


darkened nights, violent things and violin strings

by ASOCIAL CLIMBER (maxxxined)



Series: just know I'm not the sinister type [1]
Category: I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band)
Genre: Blackmail, Bullying, Caretaking, Cigarettes, Classical Music, Demon Dallon Weekes, Demon Sex, Demons, Dream Demon, Dream Sex, Drums, Eventual Romance, Exorcisms, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Human Ryan Seaman, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Murder, Muteness, Nightmares, Obsession, Originally inspired by Mr. Sinister, POV Alternating, Pet Names, Possessive Behavior, Read work notes for work playlist / more info, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sick Character, Sleepy Cuddles, Smut, Stalking, Tentacle Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Victorian, Wet Dream, fear of loud noises, fuck ronnie radke, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxxxined/pseuds/ASOCIAL%20CLIMBER
Summary: Ryan is a lonely drummer trapped in a band that loathes him.Dallon is a bored demon who only communicates with his new victim through dreams.Maybe they're made for each other, if only they could meet face to face. Unfortunately, Dallon hates his appearance and Ryan doesn't even know demons exist.
Relationships: Ryan Seaman/Dallon Weekes
Series: just know I'm not the sinister type [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765204
Comments: 71
Kudos: 78





	1. ACT ONE - Un cauchemar pour mon chéri

**Author's Note:**

> Two notes about this work:
> 
> 1: There is a playlist with a song corresponding to each chapter! It's on Spotify, here is the link: [Fic Playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0usa9Hbf3V1oyecLPnQNsJ?si=fmoYHZ3nTsOpAUbdu772pQ)  
> The song to go with each chapter will be in the beginning notes, and I'll update the playlist accordingly with each chapter I post :)
> 
> 2: Might just be me, but between Dallon's Victorian slang and me using words I never have before, I felt compelled to make a mini dictionary at the end of each chapter. Any underlined words will have their definition included :)
> 
> Happy reading! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is Saint-Saëns: Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso in A minor, Op. 28. I recommend starting it when the dream scene for both of them starts! <3
> 
> TW: This chapter involves murder and masturbation. Please only read if you're comfortable! :)

**\- RYAN -**

Ryan was an ordinary drummer for an ordinary band. He ate ordinary food, slept ordinary hours, and pet dogs passing him by on the street for ordinary amounts of time.

So why was something so unordinary happening to him?

It all begun after a show in Provo, Utah, less than an hour from where he'd grown up. Being in a smaller band, not many fans stuck around after their show, and he'd already met the few that wanted pictures. As the band's drummer, Ryan wasn't really in the spotlight; not that it would make much difference. Their fans were few and far between, that was all.

So when someone had been following Ryan home, his first assumption wasn't that it was an insane fan. His first assumption wasn't even that he was being followed- There was nothing special about him, other than the bright blue colour of his hair.

Ryan's backpack was slung over his shoulder as he strode down the street, feet pattering against the dark sidewalk. The venue wasn't in a very popular part of town, so most of the light was coming from the odd car passing by, or the colourful neon traffic lights.

Night had cast a shadow on everything, creating a blanket of mystery in every alleyway that Ryan walked past. Not that he minded; he never had been scared of the dark, not even as a little kid. What's the worst that could happen in the shadows- he'd get mugged? It wouldn't be the first time, and his wallet was empty anyways.

He had been staring at his phone mindlessly, concentrating on the tiny map glowing on his phone screen. There were only a few more blocks to make it down before he arrived at the motel he'd booked for the night, enticed by it's dangerously low price.

A metallic rattle pierced the otherwise silent air, making Ryan jolt out of his trance, stopping in the middle of the deserted sidewalk. His eyes darted to a garbage can that was shaking like someone just bumped into it. No biggie, it was probably just the wind.

He continued on his trek, unfazed by the incident. He was in a college town after all, it could just be some student that had a little too much to drink this Friday night. Or maybe it was an animal, skirting around in the darkness of the night. His mother had always said he had a thing with animals, so he wasn't concerned about getting mauled by some angry raccoon.

He was turning a corner when his phone beeped and flashed a low battery warning, the little power icon turning red. Ryan picked up his pace a little bit, not wanting to be caught in this part of town without a working phone. He wasn't afraid of the dark, but he wasn't crazy about being kidnapped either.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a shadow shifting in the empty alleyway, disappearing immediately when he turned to face it like a cat that got spooked.

Now he was growing a little worried, his stomach uneasy. His tired mind immediately wanted to assume he was being followed, but the rational part of him was calling bullshit. Thankfully, the neon sign of the motel came into view, and he booked it towards the entrance, feet slapping against the cement of the sidewalk.

Okay, so maybe it was two coincidences. Again, it was late at night in the sketchy part of town. Who knew what characters could be hanging around? It was probably a junkie, or a wild animal drawn to his brightly coloured hair and studded leather jacket. Either way, by morning, the two occurrences were completely out of his mind, head fuzzy after such a terrible sleep. Motel beds didn't allow for a luxurious slumber, and after all, he had only paid fifteen bucks for the night.

Ryan knew that he'd have to start getting better sleep soon. Over the past couple of weeks, his heath had been deteriorating slowly, leaving purple bags under his eyes as evidence. Every day he was tired and worn out, trudging from city to venue to hotel to home, an endless cycle of sleep deprived misery.

Speaking of home, that's where he needed to be today. Salt Lake City, to be exact, was where his tiny apartment stood, the only home he'd known for the past couple years.

Ryan slipped on his sunglasses and stepped out of the motel entrance into the bright sun, burning weeds in the sidewalk to a brown crisp. The sky was vacant of any clouds, a vast, blue void that stood above Ryan as he made the long walk back to his car parked at the venue. The motel had been within walking distance, and Ryan didn't see the need to waste gas, especially since he was running out of money.

Other than being their drummer, Ryan wasn't very connected to the band. Sure, his dream was being a professional drummer, and he liked getting paid, but the others seemed so... close. He felt like an outsider most of the time, like he was an old creep lurking around a bunch of kids.

There was only a seven year difference. It wasn't that many years... was it? They were technically all adults... and 25 wasn't very far from 18, right? He was disgusted by the way he was thinking, like a pedophile would to reassure themselves that everything was legal. The kids were assholes anyways, and Ryan would never date any of them, especially because he knew their feelings towards gay people. One practice a few months ago Ryan had let it slip that he had a boyfriend, and they immediately jumped to harass him.

"Fag, homo, queer," They sneered at him when no one else was around, small voices nasally and obnoxious. Ryan hadn't dated anyone since.

So most of the time Ryan let them do their own thing, and they let him do his, disconnected from the rest of the band. It was better than being called slurs at every chance that arose.

The streets were just as bare as they were the previous night, shiny dark boots kicking stray sand around as he marched towards the venue.

The sun was beating down on his head, turquoise hair plastered onto his sweaty forehead. Being a punk didn't accommodate warm weather, so he was sweltering under his black leather jacket, feet aching in his dark boots. He felt like he was walking through a thick sludge, head full of TV static like his connection to the outside world was lost. He'd have to pick up a coffee at the shoddy cafeteria in the venue, and maybe some nicotine gum too. His head was as heavy as a bowing ball, the back of his neck struggling to keep it upright.

"C'mon Seaman, you just gotta get through a few more blocks," Ryan mumbled, thankful that no one was close enough to hear him muttering to himself like a deranged person. He sure felt deranged, like someone fried his brain and made scrambled eggs out of it.

And then, it happened again. He was passing by a alley that was entangled in shadows, almost like they were vines crawling up the brick walls of the buildings. In the middle of the darkness, something sat uneasy, a bright pair of eyes staring at him without blinking.

"What the fuck..." Ryan stumbled back a few steps to get a better look, but the creature was already gone, disappearing into the shade.

"Fuck... it's probably that jackass Ronnie pullin' a prank..." Ryan snarled to himself, dead feet picking up their pace on the dusty sidewalk, jogging past deserted shops with their doors boarded up. The hair on his arms, despite being drenched in sweat, was standing on end, a shiver working its way down his spine. Ryan was sure that there was a pair of eyes following him, a shadow standing there stoically in ever alleyway that flew past him.

Ronnie was the band's lead singer, the ringleader of the asshole circus. Despite only being 18, not only did he have tattoos crawling up his skin, but he had more years in juvie than Ryan had good nights of sleep in the past month.

Without Ronnie around, the rest of the band was tolerable, but his hostile attitude seemed to put everyone in a sour mood, where Ryan was usually the punching bag.

"Jesus christ Sperm Bank, it's called a fuckin' drum, not the guy you were going down on last night," One of them would snicker, eyes flitting to Ronnie, seeking his approval. "Stop banging it like you're fucking someone with those mom hips of yours, huh?"

Ronnie would chuckle darkly, arms crossed as he stared down Ryan, who was cowering behind his drum set. "C'mon fag, you're messing up the rest of the band, it's not that fuckin' hard to hit a drum with a stick."

Finally Ryan's ratty car came into sight, it's puke-coloured paint job sizzling under the torrid Utah sun. It was a horrible car all around; from appearance to miles to driving capabilities, but that's what you get when you buy a car for $100 off a blazed stoner you met at a gas station.

He ignored his boiling car and made his way into the decaying venue, known for its plastic covered seats, linoleum floors and terrible cover bands.

It took all of Ryan's strength to swing open the metal lobby doors, a blast of cool air hitting him as it slammed behind him. If it wasn't for A.C, Ryan would've been cooked whole, his jacket acting as the tinfoil.

The florescent lightbulbs above him buzzed, flickering ominously, good for nothing but to make his headache worst and cast a yellow haze on the crisp air around him.

"Hey, yeah, could I get uh..." Ryan drummed his fingers on the gummy counter of the cafeteria window, a practiced little gesture after years of creating his own rhythms. "-a large coffee and... these." He slid a neon green pack of nicotine gum across the counter, scratched glass covering a number of flashy lottery cards.

The kid working behind the counter looked as dead as Ryan felt, sporting matching bags under their eyes.

"...That's $20." The kid deadpanned, voice cracking the way Ryan's used to when he was that age.

"Oh, you've gotta be fuckin'- here," Ryan scoffed under his breath, peeling a twenty out of his bare wallet and slapping it on the counter.

"Keep the change." He muttered, fiddling with the cardboard package while the teen poured the liquid energy into a cup, sliding a sleeve onto the warm container.

Ryan took a mouthful of the bitter coffee as soon as the kid passed it to him, ignoring the burning of his tastebuds and gulping down the liquid.

The kid watched in awe as he shoved the empty cup into their hand, still outstretched from handing it to him. "Hey, make sure that gets into the recycling, okay?"

Ryan staggered onto one of the plastic benches strewn around the lobby, popping two of the gum pieces into his mouth and chewing fiercely, letting his heavy head loll back against the dirty wall. His mouth was incredibly dry and the heat was starting to creep up on him again, armpits soaked with an unnecessary amount of sweat.

Once enough strength was flowing through his veins and his heart was beating allegro, he made his way back out into the daylight, hand burning on the handle as he threw open his car door. His jeans stuck to the seat, sweat in all his worst places, car about a million degrees hotter than it was outside. Nonetheless, Ryan needed to get home and get a good night's sleep.

The drive to Salt Lake City was a quick one, roads bare of the usual traffic, sun beating down on the disgusting brown car.

Ryan's ass was numb and soaked in sweat after the drive, leather jacket sticking to his skin as he wobbled up the stairs to his apartment. His mind was too overworked to notice the dark figure hiding in the stairwell under him, shadows creeping up the walls around it, coiling around the railings as Ryan skipped two steps and ignored the murky tendrils completely.

The apartment was cramped full, a mix of trashy, torn up chairs and worn bar stools he'd found in a dumpster behind a bar Ronnie insisted on drinking at.

Ryan still remembered the night, how the rest of the band had gotten drunk too easily and insisted on rifling through the garbage bins out back.

Obviously none of them were legal age, so Ronnie always made Ryan order them drinks wherever they went. Ryan wasn't thrilled about breaking the law, but it was better than facing Ronnie's wrath, a mistake he'd made one too many times.

Ronnie had insisted that Ryan go into a drugstore and buy them a pack of cigarettes using his own money.

"C'mon man, you know I'm broke." Ryan tried to laugh lightheartedly, like it was all a big joke, but Ronnie's scowl only deepened.

"Do it fag, or else we'll tell everyone about how your boyfriend gave you aids." He spat, arms crossed across his chest, tattoo sleeve looking even more intimidating in the dim orange light coming from a nearby streetlamp.

Ryan choked on his own breath. "Wh-What? I never got aids."

Ronnie smirked. "Who do you think people would believe, a successful lead singer, or a faggot of a drummer?"

So Ryan sulked into the store and bought them their cigarettes, avoiding eye contact with the worker so they wouldn't notice the fear in them, hands shaking as he threw Ronnie his pack.

"Hey Sperm Bank, next time don't be so bitchy about it, huh?" Ronnie mocked, pawing at the Virginia Slims and gesturing for a lighter. "God, you're such a _queer_."

Ryan dropped his bag on the floor near the front door and padded towards his bedroom, feet leaving sweat marks on the floor after being trapped in those insufferable boots all day. The air in his apartment was stale and hot, so he turned up the air conditioning before peeling off his jacket and jeans and flopping onto his bed, falling asleep quickly on top of the covers, A.C. blasting on top of him.

He twisted and turned in his sleep, a dream starting to fade into the blank slate of his mind, like a mirage in the desert, shimmering and glistening against the sand.

He was in his shitty apartment, sunlight filtering through his thin curtains. Everything around him was colourless, a world painted in blacks, whites and greys.

There was a sense of impending doom hanging over Dream Ryan, wide eyes darting around his apartment, which looked like something straight of a baroque painting.

All his normal furniture was replaced with antiques that looked like they belonged in a 19th century ballroom, ornate chests and dazzling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, catching golden light and reflecting patterns onto the tapestry-covered walls. Between that and the sudden lack of colour, his dream belonged in the past, centuries old.

Ryan was standing in his kitchen, a knife in his hand, a horrible screeching noise coming from down his hallway, filling his head until it was all he could focus on. It was as if he was a chess player placed strategically on the board, except that chess was a horror movie, and he was the idiotic protagonist, armed with nothing but a kitchen knife and a sense of urgency.

The end of the hallway was completely dark, shadows on the walls slithering towards him, all coming from the source of the noise. Blood rushed in his ears, his heartbeat now pumping along steadily next to what sounded like the screaming of a thousand souls being tortured, wails and moans filtering in and out of the wall of sound.

All this time, a light, jaunty tune had been playing in the background, composed of mostly violins. As Ryan turned to face the darkness that had overcome the end of the hallway, the violins began to play a faster, sharper tune, one that you might hear in a horror movie. The bows twisted harshly against the strings, a horrid song that only grew more and more taunting with every passing minute.

Dream Ryan started to take small steps towards the black nothingness at the end of the hallway, his hand shaking as he held the knife in front of him in defense, a glint of light getting caught on the sharp blade. The mass of shadows seemed to pull him in, like a black hole did to every star in the cosmos before devouring them.

_Dream Ryan did not want to get devoured._

He shuffled his feet forward, the orchestra of screams only growing louder as he put less and less distance between himself and the darkness, watching helplessly as one of the tendrils of shadows wrapped around his leg.

"No, no- _please_ -" Dream Ryan squeaked as the tendril began to tighten, snaking up his leg towards his chest. Another tendril coiled around his free arm, weaving itself in through his fingers, body frozen in place by fear. It was soft against his fingertips, like a kitten's fur, a false sense of security.

Both tendrils began to squeeze even more, another reaching up to ease the knife out of his hand. Dream Ryan watched it clatter to the floor uselessly, bound by the four tendrils wrapped around each of his limbs, another slithering towards his head.

"Please no- stop, help!" Ryan's voice felt hoarse as he cried for help, barely croaking out a sound. The tendril headed for his head slid across his mouth, silencing him, his muffled screams sneaking out around the shadow.

"Oh _sweetheart_ ," A hollow, boyish voice rang out in Dream Ryan's head, dripping with sweetness and sympathy, it's inhuman tone echoing around his cranium. "The more you resist, the more you give me darling. I think it would be wise to cooperate right now, _hm_?"

Tears started to prick Dream Ryan's eyes as he mumbled into the tendril in confusion, a tight grip being kept on his wrists and ankles.

"The more scared you get, the more energy you give me, baby boy." The voice's use of pet names didn't slow the rapid beat of Dream Ryan's heart, the violins' song growing more and more hurried, sharply pulling the bow across the delicate strings so that the rhythm matched how fast Dream Ryan's heart was pulsing. "I think you should just give in, don't you think so honey? Just let me take what I want, and it'll all be over so quickly, _doll_."

Dream Ryan thrashed against the tendrils tangled around his limbs, screaming helplessly into the one covering his mouth. He wasn't going to let this thing kill him, and if it did, he wasn't going out without a fight.

Through blurry eyes, he could spot the knife on the floor, bent in half by whatever force was holding him captive. He could see the shadows weaved around his outstretched fingers, coiling around his thumb as he struggled to move his hands.

The voice tsked darkly, like this was all but a game for them. "I warned you darling, but now I'm going to have to **punish** you for making this so hard for me." A tendril started to wrap itself around his neck as the violins began to screech hideously, like with every swipe of the bow the strings were snapping, out of place twangs strewn into the tune. "If only you had listened sweetheart, maybe I would've had mercy and made your death a quick one."

The tendril around his neck began to tighten, squeezing his windpipe tighter and tighter as Dream Ryan took big, gulping breaths, trying to fill his lungs with as much oxygen as he could before he couldn't breathe anymore, choking noises escaping his open mouth. His vision began to cloud as the voice giggled sinisterly, his writhing body going limp as all life drained out of him, everything turning black and-

Ryan jolted up out of bed, drenched in his own sweat, body shaking uncontrollably. What the fuck kind of nightmare was that?

Usually whenever Ryan had nightmares they followed a realistic script, like Ronnie kicking him where the sun doesn't shine, or his mom getting hit by a bus, or ordinary things like that. It was never... whatever the hell he'd just imagined.

Shaken out of his core, Ryan pulled up the blankets around him and buried his face in his pillow, trying to escape the memories of those inhuman screams, the feeling of the tendrils wrapped around his body, squeezing the life out of him. Ryan wasn't going to lie, besides being scared out of his mind, the way he was tied up turned him on the slightest bit, the boyish voice's teasing commands ringing out in his head.

 _Wait_... Ryan had never gone under the covers when he fell asleep that afternoon. Unfazed by the revelation, he shrugged and assume he'd tucked himself in half asleep. He was more concerned about the hard-on he was nursing, his boxers growing tighter as he thought about the voice's sweet names, arms and legs tied up leaving him absolutely helpless. Ryan hadn't had sex in months, and this weird-ass nightmare wasn't helping his case.

Reluctantly, Ryan got out of bed and shuffled towards his bathroom to take care of his situation downstairs. The sun was only beginning to set, a haunting orange glow coming from behind his drawn curtains, peaking out from the cracks in the fabric. Even after sleeping for hours, he still felt exhausted and worn out to his bare bones, joints aching with every step he took towards the bathroom.

The toilet seat was cool against his hot thighs, body covered in sweat, sweltering under his teeshirt. Thankfully his apartment was now chilly, refreshingly cold air being pushed around by a rickety fan in the corner of the bathroom that was creaking with every turn it made.

Ryan began to palm at his cock, growing increasingly hard in his underwear as he thought about being tied up against his will, begging for mercy. The voice had been so smooth, so calm and calculated, like it killed ordinary people everyday. Ryan didn't even know where his mind came up with that stuff.

Soft groans fell past his lips, harmonizing with the white noise of the fan, it's cool air blowing onto Ryan's burning skin, face dusted pink with embarrassment and arousal. He hadn't gotten off in forever, and the fact that he was now because of some creepy dream wasn't very good on his self esteem.

Now flustered, Ryan pulled down his boxers and wrapped his digits around his length, stroking himself as his groans grew more lengthy and guttural. The nightmare had felt so real, the soft texture of the tendrils coiled around his fingers, the upside down gravity that pulled him into the shadow. The tight grip around his wrists and ankles, holding him in place, the voice's teases and sweet names, the whole absurdity of the setting. It must have been the mixture of coffee and nicotine gum that was giving him these visions, or maybe he was sick and it was a fever dream.

Ryan sure felt sick as he sped up, cock leaking precome all over his hand, filthy thoughts floating through his mind. He lazily swiped his thumb across the head, shivering as the coldness of the air started to seep into his skin, images of his own arms tied up and bound filtering through his tired brain. He was panting softly, moans growing louder as his eyes filled with light, gasping as his orgasm took him by surprise.

 _Fuck_ , he was pathetic.

Ashamed of himself for rubbing off to an insane nightmare he'd had, Ryan cleaned up quickly and stumbled back into bed, sheets crisp and frigid. He fell back into slumber as soon as his head hit the pillow, mind chasing the sweet relief that came from a good night's sleep.

Thankfully, his mind didn't fabricate any more bizarre nightmares, a sleep void of distractions.

**\- DALLON -**

The man was coming.

**The man was coming.**

_The man was coming._

An indescribable emotion bubbled up in Dallon's chest, something he'd never experienced before. So this was what excitement felt like? Dallon liked the feeling, the knowledge that something good was coming. He was going to chase that feeling.

Preoccupied by his glowing brick, the man didn't notice Dallon dash from alley to alley, flawless white eyes glued to his next host. Concerts were great sources of energy, but Dallon preferred choosing one victim to drain, and the tired-looking drummer tucked away in the back corner of the stage was perfect.

Demons were parasitic creatures, leeching energy off of unsuspecting prey, usually younger humans. It was almost routine for Dallon: pick someone, reduce them to a hollow husk and kill them.

But routine was boring the young demon. To follow the same process over and over was monotonous, an uninteresting ritual he was expected to follow, leaving a trail of dead bodies wherever he went throughout the course of history.

Dallon's favourite century had been the 1800s, during the Victorian era. Exquisite balls, ladies dressed to the nines in frilly gowns, appearances trimmed to perfection. Beethoven echoing through empty ballrooms, gaudy golden details crawling up the walls, gothic architecture lining the streets. Class and secrecy seeped out of every flawlessly detailed oil painting hung on the wall, a time of darkness and mystery. It had been the home Dallon never had, a place where he fit right in.

Everything was different these days. Music lacked elegance, clothes lacked lace. Everything was bland and minimalistic, streets dirtied with a surplus of trash, an abundance of people lacking proper manners. Woman weren't dainty, and men weren't chivalrous. No matter where he went, Dallon stood out of place, his lavish outfit contrasted against the blank garbage pile the world had turned into. People shrieked at his appearance, babies cried, and overly brave men attempted to tackle him, anything to be the hero that stopped the hideous monster that people made Dallon out to be.

So, like he had been doing for so many centuries, he hid in the shadows, waiting for the perfect victim to fall right into his hands.

Dallon had been following the man closely all night, attracted to his neon coloured hair. There was something about the man's dead eyes, the straight slope of his nose and the dark, detailed clothes he wore that drew Dallon in, allured by how he stood out from the beige dirt of the town. Tiredness seemed to have settled into his face, emotionless and worn, like a book with faded and frayed pages, and the plum smudges of colour that bloomed under his deep set eyes was the writing.

Dallon was crouched behind an empty garbage can, staring silently at the man, pondering where he was headed, walking so briskly. The demon's tendrils were hanging idly around him, like six extra arms. Dallon had always hated them and how they got in the way of everything, from passing as a human to trying to be stealthy, ghastly tentacles that haunted him no matter where he went.

Sure, he could tuck them away under a layer of skin in his back and pretend he was human enough, a game he played when his self hatred of his appearance grew too bad, but it hurt to keep such strong limbs under his skin for too long. Those were the nights were he'd catch a glimpse of himself in a puddle and break down, thick, black tears slipping down his cheeks, just as disgusting as the rest of him was.

 **Repulsive**. **Monstrous**. **Terrifying**.

His brain played those thoughts on repeat, burning a dark hole through his fragile heart. His frustration would overtake him, a deep resentment towards humans making his hands twitch, an ache to murder. He was a monster, just as they'd all said, pointing and screaming. He was the creature of the bedtime stories parents would recite to their children to scare them, a warning to anyone out past curfew.

_Dallon despised humans._

The demon's stomach growled, hunger eating him out from the inside. If he didn't get any energy soon, he'd fade away into the pavement, leaving a black stain that would never disappear.

Dallon's sudden excitement at the sight of the man made one of his tendrils jerk forward into the garbage can, shattering the heavy silence, giving away his cover.

What a fucking nuisance.

The demon slipped even further into the shadows, praying that the man wouldn't come to investigate. The moment stretched on forever before Dallon's strong ears picked up the pattering of the man's thick-soled boots, walking further away from him.

He followed soon after, sticking in the shade between streetlamps, slithering closer and closer to the unsuspecting man. His suit vest rubbed up against the cold brick, and Dallon prayed that he hadn't soiled it. Fancy clothes were hard to come across these days, and Dallon kept 'accidentally' splattering blood on every pair of crisply pleated slacks he owned.

The man's glowing brick beeped as he turned a corner, and he picked up his pace, muttering to himself as he tripped over his feet.

Dallon had always been fascinated by the bright bricks that seemed to run purely on magic. Every human owned them these days, and to Dallon's knowledge, they had been hypnotized by its blinking screen, funny little noises and a bizarre type of energy coming off of it, like heatwaves off metal on a warm day.

Dallon started to chase after the jogging man, dress shoes scuffing the pavement as he darted around traffic signs and shrubs.

The demon took a deep breath in, the dusty smell of the street clouding around the scent he was trying to pick up: the blue-haired man's.

He smelled like cigarettes and alcohol, a hint of coconut shampoo hiding deep beneath the fragrance of booze, something he'd sniffed on the breath every person of the rowdy crowd at that dreadful concert.

Dallon couldn't believe what was being considered music these days. To the demon, it was all one loud wall of noise, strangely resembling the screams of his victims before he silenced them. The lead singer had an insufferable voice, screeching into the microphone, unpleasant words being amplified throughout the wide room.

It reduced Dallon to a whimpering nothingness, seeking shelter in the few shadows of the bustling building, the familiarity of the darkness wrapping around him, a comfort. Loud noises hurt his sensitive ears, and frightened him terribly.

From the shadows he'd spotted the drummer, hidden in the shade of the stage, ignored by the rest of the band. Dallon felt for the man, pushed to the back of the stage, shrouded in darkness. They weren't so different, him and that drummer. Of course, one was a broke 25-year-old, and the other was a creature of the night, thousands of years old.

A couple of decades ago, he'd snuck into a rich nobleman's library, riddled with books about religion and mythical creatures. After a few hours of searching, Dallon found a shocking excerpt about himself in a dusty old book, one of stories about beasts and other monsters that terrorized humans.

 _'The Victorian Demon'_ , the page was titled, a clever reference to how he usually dressed.

_'The Victorian Demon is a grotesque beast that preys on young women and men, most often after curfew. It is said to take appearance of a tall, lanky man with dark brown hair, and is said to have multiple soot-black, gossamer limbs which it uses to strangle its victim. Based on past records of demons, we can assume it uses parasite-like features to fatigue its host before killing them. The demon has only been seen in public three isolated times, and is described to be frightened by shrill noises and threats of violence, despite taking the lives of hundreds of people every year. Eyewitnesses say it's eyes are completely white, and there have been some reports of hypnosis being cast, but these reports have since been disproven. Eyewitnesses are also said to have been repulsed by the demon, multiple instances where witnesses have been sick after being in presence of the creature.'_

Next to the block of text, ink smudged where the typewriter had made a mistake, was a crudely scratched drawing of Dallon. It depicted him as a silhouette with white holes for eyes, his tendrils reaching at the viewer as if he was about to suffocate them, two spiky horns curling out of his skull.

Black, inky tears welled up in Dallon's blank eyes, body going cold as he stared at the image. This was how people saw him, an abomination who only cared about taking lives, not a creature punished by god, killing only for food.

His tears started to drip onto the page, leaving dark splotches as the fine paper soaked them up, ruining his portrait. This is what they fucking thought?

"Stupid humans..." Dallon spat under his breath, vision clouding with anger as he tightly gripped the leather bound book, the sketch staring back at him with hollow eyes. "Stupid fucking creatures. They're wrong- they're the f-fucking monsters."

He was so engrossed in the heat of his anger, something harsh and vile twisting deep inside him, that he didn't hear the oak library door creak open, the confused nobleman peeking through.

"Sir, I think you're lost-" He started, taking small steps towards the shaking demon before freezing in his tracks, realization dawning on him.

"This- This is how you see me?" There were jet-black streaks on Dallon's cheeks, tears rolling down his face, splattering onto the floor with the same consistency as paint. "A monster? A disgusting creature that- that makes people sick?"

The nobleman quivered under Dallon's gaze, the demon's breathing growing more ragged, turning into a low growling. "You think I'm hideous, huh? Do you know what's pretty _hideous_?"

The nobleman held his hands out in front of him, palms facing Dallon as he tried to back away. "I'm- I'm sorry- Please don't kill me, I have a family-"

"Since you didn't answer, I might as well show you." Dallon's tendrils sprung towards the nobleman, first twisting around his wrists, then writhing around his neck. "Dead human looks pretty hideous, don't you think?"

The nobleman shook his head quickly as Dallon began to squeeze, a fury blistering inside him, a thousand-year-old instinct taking over. A small smirk tugged at his lips as the life drained out of the nobleman's blue eyes, the high that came after inheriting so much energy making Dallon dizzy.

He let the corpse fall to the floor, his brand new dress shirt stained with the deep red liquid, hands still shaking. His fists were full of the horrible book pages, shredded apart in his sudden rage, scrawny little drawing ripped apart.

As his breath evened out, Dallon left the soiled corpse on the hardwood and continued browsing, whistling quietly to himself as his slender fingers traced the spines of the books, hands undirtied. He had dropped the remains of the sketch on the body, a warning to anyone who stumbled across it.

Dallon took his pick of books and slipped them into his waistcoat, disappearing silently into the shadows of the wealthy neighbourhood, mind buzzing with how stimulated he was. High off of the nobleman's energy, he decided to walk underneath the streetlamps lining the sidewalk, tendrils surrounding him ominously. It wasn't very often that he let himself go out in the open, but his trembling heart hopped with happiness, a certain bravery coming over him.

His mind had fallen into a haze, completely drunk off of taking in so much energy so quickly. He'd already eaten earlier that day, so the nobleman's death was a surplus, an electric current running through his veins.

Dallon felt invincible, daring the world to bask in his presence, to take in the unholiness that he was, a sinful creature. An open defiance of god, something murderous, not to be angered.

Maybe the book had been right. Maybe Dallon liked being a monster the world feared, a dangerous creature that haunted nightmares, children's and adult's alike.

Clearly intoxicated, he staggered into a shady alleyway and fell to the ground, back resting against the wall, the coldness of the cement bleeding through his waistcoat.

Yeah, maybe Dallon was sick of pretending he wasn't a horror, a twisted beast. Maybe he wanted to scare away anyone and everyone who was repulsed by him and live out the rest of his days in solidarity.

As he was pondering these thoughts, he'd fallen into an energy-coma, crashing off of his sudden high. When he'd wake up, he'd remember none of the revelations he'd had while drunk and continue to be ashamed of who he was, something he couldn't control.

Present-day Dallon was shaken out of his daydream by the sound of a passing car, milky white eyes adjusting to the darkness quickly, noticing that the man was far ahead of him. _Shit!_

He sprinted to an alleyway ahead of the preoccupied man, something that he rarely did, legs aching as he struggled to catch his breath. The alleyway, unlike most of the trash-filled crevices Dallon lived in, was stripped of any suitable hiding places. The man's footsteps were approaching, so Dallon had no choice but to stand there in the dark and pray that he didn't look over.

Dallon shut his eyes, as they were too bright and would've been a dead giveaway to the fact that someone was watching him. The man's feet puttered hesitantly against the sidewalk as he approached the alleyway, then there was the hard slapping sound of the rigid soles hitting the pavement, running away.

Had he spotted Dallon and been startled? Dallon opened one eye and peeked out from around the corner to see the spooked man enter a second-rate motel, its blinking neon light nearly blinding the white-eyed demon.

The place was well lit and densely populated, so Dallon waited out the night in the bare alleyway, throwing tiny rocks against the stucco walls of the buildings towering over him. Loneliness had settled into the bottom of his stomach, next to a mountain of hunger and a smaller mountain of indescribable emotions he didn't want to untangle. It had been weeks since he'd found a suitable host, someone to leech energy off of, and he was going to wait until the man was less exhausted to have a proper meal.

Dallon had fallen asleep against his own will, head propped up against the frigid wall, snoring lightly. He woke up to the sound of cars passing by, a familiar set of footsteps getting closer, this time slower and more sluggish. Dallon stared at the man as he passed by, murmuring something to himself, looking worse than he had the previous night. They locked eyes for a brief moment, and worries flooded Dallon's head, but the man only shook his own and continued walking.

Dallon followed the man all the way to the concert hall he'd been in the previous night, now deserted of all noisy humans. The man disappeared into the building, giving Dallon enough time to slink into the backseat of his car, heat suffocating him slowly.

Finally, the man returned, seemingly much more energized than before. Dallon uncomfortably hid behind the man, glad he was finally making his way out of that cheap town full of college younglings. It wasn't his first time being a stowaway, trying to flee a town that had been plucked dry of anything interesting, so he ignored the cramps in his long legs and the way his bony shoulders ached.

The man turned off the car and wobbled his way into an apartment building, paint peeling off the walls, red solo cups strewn about the stairwell.

The bastard was too jaded to notice Dallon's tendrils curl around the staircase railings, shuffling into his apartment like a zombie, not even bothering to lock the door behind him.

'This guy has a death wish.' Dallon thought as he prowled through the door, shutting it behind him. He skittered into the bedroom to find the man fast asleep, jacket and jeans thrown on the floor in a heap.

He looked so peaceful asleep, face relaxed, eyelashes twitching as he twisted lazily in the bed. Dallon accidentally let a laugh slip, long hands gaining a mind of their own and pulling the covers up over the man's shoulders. Hey, if this guy was going to be his host, Dallon wanted to make sure he was healthy and full of life before draining him of it.

The demon sat in the room silently for a few minutes before boredom had gotten the best of him, a _wonderfully_ **horrible** idea hatching in his brain.

Maybe a nightmare would jump-start the man's energy, no? Nothing got people's blood pumping more than when Dallon intervened with their dreams and turned them into something terrible, foreshadowing what he'd do to them later. Why not have some fun with this guy?

Dallon closed his eyes and focused on slipping into this guy's head unnoticed to plant a nightmare, one where he'd get to orchestrate the plot and every twisted event.

Once inside, Dallon decided to make himself unseen, shame of his appearance still pricking at his head. He'd change the apartment into something more era-appropriate, place a good natured tune of violins that could go horribly wrong in an instant, and gave his puppet a knife, something the man could think he would be able to defend himself with. The scene was just missing something... something to make it personal.

Oh, Dallon knew. He warp the drummer's horrible music into what Dallon saw it as- a wall of screeches. All that it needed was it's main character: the bright-haired man.

The man took in his surroundings slowly, staring at the knife with a fascination before turning to the hallway, the trap Dallon had laid out.

Dallon could feel the man's heartbeat speed up, trembling as he slid one foot forward in front of the other, holding out the knife in front of him like that'd do any good. Fear slowly molded onto his face, eyes wide, colour draining from his skin as he stared into the abyss at the end of his hallway. Dallon felt maniacal, skin itching to begin scaring this guy, but he waited until the man's body was on a tripwire, waiting for something or someone to jump out.

Dallon reached out to wrap one of his tendrils around the man's ankle, caressing his leg softly, teasing him. The man's eyes grew bigger, the whites around his irises beginning to show, a plea of help falling out of his mouth.

Dallon grinned darkly to himself, satisfied with how the man was reacting. He spiralled around the man's free arm, intertwining his tendrils through his outstretched fingers, holding the man in place.

Dallon quite liked the look on the man's face, one of panic and disbelief, something that left Dallon wanting more. The demon wasn't one to use common slang other than a few respective curses, but... a word was nagging at the back of his head, a feeling of warmth blossoming throughout his chest, sympathy making its home in Dallon's hollow heart.

The man was **cute**.

After considering it for a few seconds, Dallon decided he'd have a little more fun with the cute man. Once getting rid of his puppet's weapon and securing him in place, silencing his little whines, Dallon taunted him.

"Oh _sweetheart_ ," He cooed, unsure of where the pet name came from. It only made that wonderful feeling in his chest spread more, so he decided to continue with them. "The more you resist, the more you give me darling. I think it would be wise to cooperate right now, _hm_?"

The cute man's words were muffled by the tendril silencing him, the terrified look on his face everything Dallon ever wanted. Some indescribable emotion was piling up inside Dallon, its intensity growing with every passing moment that Dallon was staring at the man's cute face, his cute body, his cute little tears that clung to his eyelashes like constellations.

Dallon shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he was. It wasn't right to feel this way about a human, especially such an easily frightened one, one that made horrid music that hurt Dallon's ears. But it was snowballing inside of him, growing worse and worse as the man begun to writhe against the tendrils, short little sobs falling from his mouth.

"The more scared you get, the more energy you give me, baby boy." Dallon inwardly cringed at the last two words, ashamed of how good it made him feel. What was this feeling, and why did he feel like his body was on fire? To distract himself from whatever situation was unfolding inside of him, Dallon sped up the violins speed, their dancing tune growing more urgent. "I think you should just give in, don't you think so honey? Just let me take what I want, and it'll all be over so quickly, _doll_."

God, Dallon wanted to take from this man. He wanted to take and take and take, breaking him down to a bare before building him back up, something fuzzy starting to spread in Dallon's mind as he thought about this. No human had ever had this effect on the demon before, leaving him wanting something more, some weird new feeling making its home in the bottom of his stomach. The entire lower half of his body was tingling, _lusting_ for the wriggling, bound man.

The cute man's neon blue hair was beginning to fall into his terrorized face, so Dallon pushed it out of the way with a tendril, mind chasing the sight of the cute man's beautiful eyes, glistening with tears.

"I warned you darling, but now I'm going to have to **punish** you for making this so hard for me."

 **Punish**. Dallon wanted to punish the cute man for making him feel this way. He wanted to see him on his knees, begging for mercy, doe eyes sparkling with unshed tears, tied up and-

 _Fuck_ , where did that come from? He needed to regain control of his thoughts- he needed to end this nightmare before his brain could produce any more dirty ones.

"If only you had listened sweetheart, maybe I would've had mercy and made your death a quick one." Dallon kept his voice soft as he slid a tendril around the cute man's neck, craving more of the way terror flared inside the cute man's eyes, feeling his clear, salty tears fall into the tendril covering his mouth.

 **He** was **his**.  
**He** was **Dallon's** puppet.   
**He** belonged to **Dallon**.

Dallon needed to stop this man from making him feel this way, the fuzzy feeling in his head growing against his will. He needed to watch the life fade out of the cute man's beautiful eyes, to put an end to whatever cravings he was feeling. Just as Dallon began to tighten the tendril, blocking the cute man's airway, watching him struggle against his grip, the nightmare cut short. Dallon woke up suddenly under the bed where he'd hid, thrill running through his body at how the man had reacted.

He heard the cute man gasping for air like he was still being choked, bed springs creaking above him, dust landing on the demon's nose. He had to stifle a sneeze, a itch creeping up his sinuses.

While the nightmare had been a success and the man was definitely more energized, Dallon regretted planting it in the first place. His head and chest were a mix of emotions alike, a light protruding through the usual darkness of his mind, something... unusual happening in his lower body.

It _had_ to be a hex, or a spell, or some sort of black magic this man had cast on him. Never before had Dallon felt this way towards one of his victims, longing to run his hands through his hair, to touch him all over, to make him feel good and owned.

What was wrong with Dallon?

The man's energy was turning into something different above Dallon, something much more powerful than fear. The energy followed him to the bathroom, where he sat on the closed toilet seat and began to do something unexpected, fondling himself through his underwear, sounds of pleasure falling out of his mouth.

Dallon was extremely taken back by the cute man's reaction to such a vivid nightmare. Sure, Dallon had seen victims have coitus before, or perform oral acts of sex, of masturbate when they thought they were alone. But... never after a nightmare.

Perplexed, Dallon tried to slip into the man's mind to see what he was getting off to and was surprised to see... the cute man himself, wrapped up by Dallon's tendrils, face hot, his wet tongue lolling out of his mouth.

What the Dickens?

Still starving, Dallon began to take in this new energy the man was giving off, much stronger than his panic had been. It was making the demon dizzy again, a power-high creeping up on him, but he had to resist. The cute man finished with a soft moan, before hurriedly washing up and tumbling back into bed, falling into a deep slumber quickly.

Dallon didn't know what to make of the whole situation. What did that mean? Why was the cute man thinking about being wrapped up in Dallon's tendrils? Why was the energy he gave off while horny so much better than the energy he gave off while scared?

And most importantly, why did Dallon love it?

**\- END OF ACT 1 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Mini dictionary -
> 
> Gossamer: noun, 1. Any thin, light fabric.  
> 2\. Something extremely light, flimsy, or delicate.
> 
> Dickens: noun, 1. Used for emphasis, euphemistically invoking the Devil.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading!


	2. ACT TWO -  Les pétales de rose du plaisir plongés dans l'eau des erreurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is Beethoven's Sontana No. 14 "Moonlight" In C-Sharp Minor <3 Once again, recommend starting when the dream scenes start! :)
> 
> TW: There is smut, homophobic language, blatant sexism, and use of the r-word in this chapter, please only read if you are comfortable with all of the following! Thank you and stay safe :)

**\- RYAN -**

"Earth to Sperm Bank- Hey retard, over here," Ronnie yelled, scratchy voice echoing throughout the practice studio.

Ryan snapped out of his daydream, consciousness returning to the small room he was in.

Ronnie. The three other goons. Drum set. Cigarette butts. Smoke hanging in the air.

_Ugh_ , he hated their practice studio. It was a room that held nothing but jagged memories, full Ronnie's foul words and drumming mistakes, smelling of alcohol and whatever drugs they had gotten their little rat claws on. Of course they denied having anything whenever Ryan asked, but the carpet was littered with blunts and the room always kept the thick scent of weed.

Ryan had been reliving the nightmare he'd had yesterday, mind unable to shake the soft feeling of the eerie limbs slithering in between his fingers, stroking his legs gently.

Never in a thousand years did he think his brain would put together something so weird and freakish, a grotesque collection of images burned behind his eyes.

He'd been stumbling over his beats, drumsticks ricocheting back at him as his hands stuttered, unable to keep a steady rhythm.

"Hey queer, pay attention. We have a show downtown in a couple of days and you can't fuck up like this." The lead guitarist was glaring at him, the wire leading to his amp coiled around his ankle.

God, that stupid dream was bleeding into his real life now, weird shadows of the tendrils popping up everywhere Ryan looked.

After waking up from his hibernation at midnight and eating a late-night salad consisting mostly of lettuce and watered-down dressing, every hair on his arms begun to stand on end like his body knew something he didn't.

He couldn't be 100% sure, but his tired mind convinced him that he was being followed, and someone, or something was residing in his apartment alongside him. You always hear about those stories on the news, the ones where unsuspecting people discover that food is going missing and place the blame on animals, only to later figure out that a homeless person was living in their walls. Ryan didn't want to lose any of his small stash of food, and he didn't want anyone living with him unless they were paying the rent.

Thankfully, the shadow figure didn't seem to eat, leading Ryan to believe it was a figment of his imagination, something conceived by his barely-functional brain.

Numb and sleepy, he drove to the practice studio with a stuffy head, every sound muffled like he was six feet under. Ryan sure felt like he was dead, skin a pasty grey colour, body stiff and overworked.

Usually he could stomach Ronnie's raspy voice and intolerable slander, but today it made his murky mind throb with pain, temples pulsing every time he pressed his fingers to the sides of his forehead.

"Yeah fag, stop thinking about whatever twink was plowing you last night and start playing the fucking drums!" Ronnie shouted, making Ryan flinch.

"You know what Ronnie-" Ryan blurted, his mental filter taking a day off. "For someone so homophobic, you sure like talking about my sex life."

The rest of the band went silent, eyebrows raised in shock. No one had ever talked back to Ronnie before, especially Ryan.

"What did you say faggot?" Ronnie's voice was dangerously low as he trudged towards the drummer, wrath radiating off of him.

"I said, maybe you shouldn't worry so much about me and start figuring out your own sexuality." Ryan didn't want to meet Ronnie's fierce gaze, shooting daggers at Ryan, arms crossed in front of him.

"You know what, you're a fuckin' burden to this band," Ronnie hissed, turned away from him sharply. "Get out. And don't come back until you untwist your panties."

Ryan hung his head low, letting his hair fall into his eyes, blocking out the murderous stares of the rest of the members. He quickly packed up his shit and slumped out of the tiny studio, tripping over microphone wires.

Exhaustion washed over him, warm tears spiking in his eyes as he slid into his heated car, sick and tired of being treated like crap. He was older than Ronnie, why couldn't he stand up to him properly?

Ryan smacked his steering wheel in frustration, hand numb to the broiling leather. It wasn't fair how much Ronnie got away with. If Ryan had done half of things Ronnie did at that age, he'd be either in jail, or grounded for eternity.

Ronnie stole a dog? No repercussions. Ronnie sold fake I.D.s? Nah, _no biggie_. Ronnie got publicly intoxicated and threatened to 'fuck their face up permanently' to an _old man_ staring at him? Huh, nope, not an issue. It made Ryan furious, pondering why he even bothered to show up to these useless practices anymore. The only reason he even stayed in the band was because he needed the money, and if he left, he was sure Ronnie would somehow spread a false rumour about him involving STDs.

The sky had faded into a gloomy grey colour, the threat of rain hanging heavy in the humid air as Ryan drove home, screaming along to angry music. Other drivers stared as he headbanged passionately, trying to stuff his fury deep down inside him where he wouldn't have to think about Ronnie's grim face, or all the shit the kid got away with.

Ryan mumbled a hello to the pair of paper-white eyes staring at him from the shadows of the stairwell, unsurprised when a quiet greeting was murmured back. Great, his mind was so broken now figments of his imagination were speaking back to him.

Ryan stormed up the stairs to his apartment, frustrated at how shitty his life was becoming. He wanted to leave the band, to leave the city and explore something new and exciting, unencumbered by his past mistakes.

He'd only joined Ronnie's band in the first place because of the person he wanted to become. All his teenage years, he'd tried so hard to be someone people feared, something the world wouldn't fuck with. Ronnie was 16 when they'd first met, and Ryan immediately wished he was as badass as that kid was.

In an attempt to seem tough, Ryan pushed away everyone in his life he loved. No more family, no more pets, no more dating.

It had been cold and lonely, being so far away from everyone. The band was his entire world, the only people he'd interact with on a daily basis. His opinions were coloured by them, peer pressured into every bad decision the dumb kids made, trying to relive his teenage years as the kid he wished he had been.

One day they were hanging around the pier at dusk, smoking and yelling insults at random people walking by, laughing at their reactions.

"Hey Ryan, you got a bitch at home?" The guitarist asked, taking a sip of beer Ryan had bought for them.

"Uh- _a bitch_? You mean a girlfriend?" Ryan shifted uneasily, uncomfortable with calling a woman bitch. Waves were crashing underneath his dangling legs, cold air whipping against his face, black hair covering his eyes. The sun had just disappeared past the horizon line, leaving a dark orange tint on the dim sky, heavy clouds covering any stars.

"Yeah, a bitch. You don't have a dishwasher at home?"

The others snickered to each other, exchanging amused glances.

"No- I don't have a... dishwasher." His throat closed as he uttered the last word, shame burning up his neck.

Something cracked inside of him, realization flooding through his body. This was who he was becoming, someone who belittled and objectified women?

He didn't want to be tough anymore. He missed his mom, missed his old friends he'd cut contact with, his old life. Ryan hated living a lie, this fake character that he'd turned himself into, a bully and a criminal.

Ryan stopped hanging out with the band so often and started mending his old relationships, trying his hand at dating again. His practices with the band were becoming more and more awkward, secretive looks being shared, whispers and plans being made behind Ryan's back.

After a few dates with women Ryan discovered that he wasn't really attracted to them, and leaned more towards the well dressed waiters that smiled charmingly at him. He slipped his number to one of them during dinner and found that he enjoyed his dates with men much more, especially the events that followed after.

Eventually the band found out he was dating a man, and their hostile attitudes that they'd been hiding all that time jumped out. Ryan couldn't believe he'd once considered those guys his best friends, the people he wanted to be associated with. He felt... _disgusted_ with himself.

At shows, Ronnie would always make sure Ryan was shoved to the back, cloaked by the shade of the stage. He'd drum for them and then escape as quickly as he could, slinking away to whatever motel he could afford that night. Life was growing boring, and even though he was shameful of it, he was thankful that out of his exhaustion grew a delusional disorder that gave him hyper-realistic dreams with erotic undertones. It made life a little more interesting, no?

And as for the creature-roommate situation, Ryan didn't really care if he was murdered in the middle of the night. So far nothing bad had happened, and his dreary life could use a little excitement.

His apartment was silent enough, a soft, electrical hum coming from his appliances, dismal clouds looming over the crumbling building. Light rain had started to patter against his windows, creating a collage of raindrops on the glass, not much unlike the tears that started to gather on Ryan's eyelashes.

Why couldn't he just leave? Why was did this have to be so goddamn hard? Making music was supposed to be fun; so why was he so miserable?

Sleep. That's what Ryan needed. One good night of interrupted sleep, and his mind would be able to sort out all his problems. It was a recipe for success.

Ryan reluctantly slid into bed, anger still fresh in his mind, now cooled by the prospect of a good night's sleep. He fell asleep almost immediately, head buried in his pillow, fists full of blanket, blue hair mashed up against his cheap grey headboard.

But, as the previous night had gone, another dream crept up on his unconscious mind against Ryan's will.

He was laying on a bed in nothing more than his boxers, staring at a ceiling. Confused, he propped himself up with his elbows and took in his new surroundings, internally groaning when he realized this was playing out the same way as he previous dream had:

The world consisted of only blacks, whites and greys, like someone had put a filter over his eyes. He was in his bedroom, but... it wasn't his bedroom.

His bed seemed to have aged a hundred years, sprouting four posts, ornately decorated fabric stretched across the top. It took Dream Ryan's eyes some time to unravel the scene that had been sewn into the fabric, a field of wildflowers of all shapes and sizes, a sun peaking out from behind a bundle of curvy clouds, a few bees dotting the flowers that seemed to sway in the breeze, despite only being a stitched mural.

The piles of empty waterbottles that had been sitting on his nightstand for god knows how long had been replaced with thin candles, a flame flickering like it too had felt the wind of the sunny day mural. Wax dripped down the side of the frail candles, collected in the glass dishes the candles were sitting upright in, reflecting little teardrops of moonlight onto the frilly pillows of the bed.

On his other nightstand was a boxy record player, like something his mom might have stowed away in her basement. A record was playing softly in the background, a classical piece Ryan didn't know the name of. He watched the fine needle intently, mesmerized by the way it fell into the grooves of the record, a lilted, melancholy harmony playing back in return.

At first listen, the song seeped with cheerfulness, an uplifting melody that drowned out your sorrows. But the more you leaned into the song, the more you dug under that initial blanket of happiness, you came to discover an entirely different world. One of notes that remained in your mind even after they were played like haunting memories, one of a musician who'd lost everything and wasn't playing for money, but to tell a story of heartbreak and tragedy, minor notes held onto until the last possible second, like letting go would be letting go of a loved one. The somber melody made Dream Ryan's heart twist, unsure what to make of the placement of such a beautiful song.

Dream Ryan's elbows dug into the silky satin bedspread as he sat upright, eyes adjusting to the bright moonlight streaming in through the wide window next to his bed, making the sheets shine hauntingly.

Something stuck to his arm as he pulled it away from the bed, something velvety and thin. He peeled it off of his elbow and was surprised to see he was holding a rose petal, turned black in the grayscale setting of the dreamworld. In fact, petals were scattered all around him on the bed, little dark dots against the shiny white satin sheets.

_What kind of dream was this?_

Dream Ryan's heart began to tremble as a realization dawned on him: this was going to be the same type of dream as last night. One that would end with him dead, strangled by whatever odd character his mind had created.

But his heart calmed as he realized that there was no wall of screeches, no sense of impending doom hanging over him, and most importantly, no shadows pulling him in with indescribable force.

Then, as if his thoughts could be read, out of nowhere a shadowy tendril snaked towards him on the bed, like an eel swimming through water. Dream Ryan yelped and recoiled as far away as possible, back pressed up against the cold metal headboard.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you darling," It was the same voice as the previous night, boyish and soft around the edges, ringing out in Dream Ryan's head.

"W-Who are you? _What are you doing?_ " Ryan hoped it couldn't hear the waves of fear crash in his voice, tongue tripping over his words.

"I know what you want, Ryan." The voice said firmly. "I think you know you want it too, hm sweetheart?"

Dream Ryan knew what the voice was referring to, but he didn't want to actively think about it, afraid that he would give in too easily. "I-I don't know what you're talking about..."

The tendril slid into his open hand, weaving through his fingers, soft and silky, the same texture as the bedsheets had. "Oh but _baby_ , I think you do know. I think you're just embarrassed, doesn't that sound right?"

Ryan nodded hesitantly as another tendril slithered up his leg, tense muscles relaxing, a feeling of safety falling over him. "It's nothing to be embarrassed of darling, it's just human nature." The voice had a calming effect on him, the wretched fear in his gut starting to melt away, replaced with a tranquil feeling of peace.

"And you can't help feeling like this, can you baby?" The voice cooed, the tendril on his leg beginning to coil around the limb, smooth and velvety against his skin. "How about I give your body what it wants, okay sweetheart?"

Heat pooled in his stomach as Dream Ryan nodded again feebly, rubbing his fingers against the tendril intertwined with his hand, watching with wide eyes as another coiled around his other arm, gently pulling him towards the center of the bed. His body gave in so easily, like his mind knew that it was safe, that it wasn't a nightmare and he wouldn't be hurt.

A fourth tendril wrapped around his other leg, it's movements much more careful and slow than they had been in the previous dream. Dream Ryan hadn't stopped caressing the tendril in his hand, a fuzzy feeling starting to prick at his head as his body fell into submission, soft little whines falling out of his mouth. He'd forgotten how to talk completely, mind turning to mush when another tendril tenderly cupped his cheek.

"Oh baby, look how badly you need it," The voice teased, dripping with sweetness and pity. "You're already hard, aren't you darling?"

Dream Ryan couldn't help but nod, a wet patch forming on his boxers, another needy little whine escaping him.

"Can you get on your knees for me sweetheart?" The voice asked gently, echoing through Ryan's mind. Without a second though he fell forward onto his knees, pressing into the satin sheets, petals settling down next to his legs. The romantic song continued to play out lightly in the background, the wicks of the candles fluttering, delicate glass dishes sparkling in the moonlight.

The tendrils around his arms pulled them together in front of him, the front of his wrists rubbing, and coiled around them, keeping the two arms bound.

_Oh_ , he was being tied up.

At his realization, his cock jumped in his underwear, his quiet little cry filling the room.

"You like that, don't you honey? You like being tied up, my pretty little puppet?" The voice purred, the tendrils around his ankles repeating the same action. "My pretty, pretty little puppet. All mine baby, you're all mine."

Ryan bit his lip and nodded frantically, watching as a tendril started to prod at the band of his boxer, unable to do anything but stare helplessly.

Before he knew it, his underwear was being pulled down and a tendril was wrapping around his cock, making him gasp, his hips stuttering forward into the soft, velvety touch.

"Oh, oh yes- god, _sir_ _yes!_ " He cried, the name slipping out of his mouth unnoticed. The tendril cupping his cheek slid up to push his hair out of his eyes, the ones loosely coiled around his wrists and ankles tightening.

He writhed against the tendrils, mewling softly as the tendril around his cock stroked him gently, pleasure slithering up his spine. Tears started to roll down his cheeks, glistening in the bright moonlight, his lips parted, short little gasps and shallow breaths being drawn in.

"Is this what you wanted sweetheart?" The voice taunted him. "Is this what you thought of when you touched yourself yesterday?"

Dream Ryan nodded, whining against the gentle tune coming from the record, something beautifully sad playing alongside his little sounds of pleasure.

"That's it sweetheart," The voice guided. "You're doing so well baby, look at you, perfect little puppet."

Ryan's vision was starting to blur as he sobbed softly into the air, cock dripping precome as he fucked into the tendril. Overstimulation was creeping up on him, his entire body hot as he felt his climax near, breaths stuttering as he tried to hold it off. This was way better than any boring vanilla sex he'd ever had, tied up and stimulated, rubbing up against the tendril stroking his face.

"S-Sir- oh- _come_ , m' gonna come-" Dream Ryan warned, the silky touch of the tendril to the tip of his cock making him cry out. "Oh- _Oh!_ "

"Come then for me baby, let your body get what it wants." The voice taunted, dark and gentle. "Sweet little thing, aren't you? My pretty little puppet."

Dream Ryan cried out as pleasure started to build up, the waves getting bigger and bigger until everything was going white, crashing down over him-

Ryan woke up with a jerk, mind racing to keep up with where he was. No satin sheets, no black rose petals, no soft piano playing in the background. Orange sunlight cast colour on the small room, his bed turned back into its dangerously cheap model, sheets covered in sweat.

Ryan felt something sticky begin to cool in his boxers, noticing a wet patch when he pulled back his covers to examine what was going on.

What. The. Fuck.

Again?! And this time it was a fucking wet dream, the weirdest one he'd ever had. He couldn't believe he'd actually came to that- that- whatever that had been.

The tendrils wrapped around his entire body, tied up, stroking his cock. The voice's praise and teases, the way a blanket of serenity fell over him when the tendrils intertwined with his hand, the melancholy harmony and the perfect setting. It was too much.

Ryan groaned, staggering out of bed to change his boxers, disgusted by himself. He felt filthy, the fact that his mind had come up with something as dirty as that a sobering reality to how lonely he was.

The voice kept ringing out through his head, the pet names making his heart stammer. What did it mean? Why was his mind fabricating such eerie, erotic dreams?

As he slipped on a fresh pair of underwear and slid back into bed, something clicked in his head. The dreams had to be connected to the shadow figure that had taken residence in his apartment, there was no other explanation.

Ryan sat upright in bed, feeling the burn in his abs as his eyes scanned the room for the shadow.

There. In the darkest corner of the room was a pair of milk-white eyes staring back at him, unblinking, gaze unwavering.

"Hey, thanks for the gross dreams, whatever you are..." Ryan sneered, scoffing before fall back into his pillow, unable to fall back asleep after such an intense dream.

It took a while, but he finally fell into unconsciousness, unaware that he was being watched closely the entire time.

**\- DALLON -**

The cute man was gone. He had been for a few hours, and based on the lack of his scent in the tiny apartment, Dallon wasn't sure when he'd get back.

The demon had been hiding in the various shadows of the cute man's apartment, growing more and more bored with every long minute that passed. The cute man didn't own any books other than a few thin magazines about that wretched, so-called 'music', and a couple of miscellaneous comic books that held the scent of age, pages frayed and faded.

He watched the man closely while he slept, something warm brewing inside his chest as he stood with his face inches away from the cute man's, fascinated by how thick his eyelashes were. He was fighting the urge to lean in and kiss the Sleeping Beauty, nearly drooling at how soft his lips looked, how peaceful he looked asleep.

This newfound feeling made Dallon feel like he was walking on air, a frizzy feeling returning to his head every time he snuck a peek at the beautiful man.

Dallon didn't know what was wrong with him. A monster of the night shouldn't be infatuated with a human, one with such a disastrous life, so improper and bland. Especially since that human was a man. Being a Mary wasn't very Victorian.

All Dallon could think about was that image of the cute man tied up in his tendrils, tongue hanging out of his mouth, pretty face pinched in pleasure. It bothered him how much he yearned for it, body aching in an unnatural way, hands itching for something other than murder.

He had been riding off the cute man's wave of energy, lolling around the apartment, avoiding every mirror stuck to the walls. He'd gone a month without breaking down over his own appearance and he didn't want to leave a trail of black tears in the apartment for the man to find.

The cute man had woken up in the middle of the night and scared Dallon into a closet stemming off the kitchen, getting caught in a net of cobwebs. Dallon peered through a crack in the door at the man, his stomach twisting again. The cute man was shirtless, slicing a head of lettuce while yawning, oversized pajama pants bunched up around his legs.

Blazes, Dallon couldn't handle this. He grabbed at his thick hair in frustration, knobby elbows knocking into the pasty walls of the closet, catching more cobwebs as he jerked away from the noise.

The cute man only looked over his shoulder confused, dark eyes flickering full of fear before returning to normal a moment later. Dallon breathed a sigh of relief, trying to slow his jittering nerves.

The man dwindled around the apartment for the next couple hours, watching some sitcom on TV. Electronics gave off an awful high-pitched noise, so Dallon spent that entire hour cowering in the closet, fingers in his ears, stifling a scream.

Then the cute man left around lunch, leaving Dallon alone to snoop around the apartment.

Fast food receipts and empty hair dye bottles made up his garbage, the thick chemical scent coming from them giving the demon a headache.

His closet was a sea of blacks and greys, multiple pairs of ripped jeans and leather jackets lining the rack, a few brightly coloured button-ups popping out of the dark clothes.

Dallon begun to rifle through his drawers, only coming up with half empty bottles of aspirin, a knot of earbuds tangled together and a laptop.

Dallon had only seen a laptop a couple of times before, intrigued by its slim design, a machine that could let you travel the world from the comfort of your home.

Curious, he carefully pulled out the silvery device, ignoring the horrid sound coming off of it, and took a seat on the bed, laying the laptop on his lap as the name directed.

He propped open the screen slowly, like he expected something to jump out at him, but instead it flickered once, twice, before a login page remained on the screen.

_'Ryan Seaman_ ', the profile read, a small, pixelated photo of the cute man next to the blocky text. So his name was Ryan. Good to know for future reference.

Dallon peered out the bedroom window, surprised to see the man's broken car pull into the parking lot, a look of anger on his face, eyebrows tense.

The demon quickly shut the magical device and laid it back down in the nightstand drawer, scurrying down the stairs just in time to catch Ryan unlocking the side door of the complex, grumbling to himself.

Dallon tucked himself away in a dark corner of the stairwell, staring at Ryan, who mumbled a hello to him.

Ryan could see him? No, it must have been a mistake.

Nonetheless, Dallon muttered a hello back, extremely self conscious of how his voice sounded. Sure, he could talk to him no problem in dreams, but Ryan didn't know that it was him talking. Ryan must think that it was his own mind making up the voice, a fact that made Dallon feel the slightest bit guilty.

He didn't think he'd ever be able to confront Ryan outside of dreams, afraid that Ryan would take one look at his pupil-less eyes, his disheveled brown hair, or how freakishly tall and long his limbs were, and he'd be disgusted.

_'But he seemed to like your tendrils.'_ A small voice nagged at Dallon, like the devil on his shoulder. _'Maybe he'd like the rest of you too.'_

It was futile. No human had ever liked Dallon, except for one of the estranged little orphan kids he visited a couple decades ago, trying to cheer them up.

Sickness reigned over the orphanage and Dallon pitied the small humans, destined to a life without love unless they were one of the lucky few who were adopted. He had snuck into their rooms at night, pulling the paper-thin blankets over their shivering shoulders, frames skinny and fragile. The children only ate one meal a day, usually consisting of porridge or thistle soup, or whatever bit of bread they scavenged off the bakers down the street.

The orphanage was run by nuns and extremely religious, a cross hanging over every doorway giving Dallon a terrible headache, but he needed to check on the kids. He knew what it felt like to be alone in a giant world, unguided and confused, motherless and fatherless. The demon had always yearned for the affection and warmth families seemed to have in every novel he read, a love so strong that it stood unfaltering against the test of time and life.

One little girl had opened her eyes right when Dallon was tucking her in, colour draining from her tiny face covered in soot, a shriek escaping her cherry red lips.

"Help! Help, the devil is here!" She cried, turning her head away from him, her straw coloured hair tangling as she buried her head in the gaunt pillow, bones poking out of her slim shoulders. Dallon shushed her quickly, dread flooding through him as other children close by began to wake up, staring at him with eyes the size of dinner plates.

They all sat up in their beds, faces painted a sickly colour, staring at the demon in awe as some younger children started to cry along with the weeping girl.

Dallon needed to get out of there fast, but as he was about to make a break for it, a little boy tugged on the corner of his waistcoat, tiny lips parted in astonishment. The cold winter air that oozed from every crack in the window had turned his lips purple colour like he'd been eating plums, a scraggly little kid with a paltry haircut and watery brown eyes.

"Ex-cuse me sir," The kid nearly whispered into Dallon's ear when he brought his head down to his level. "Are you really the devil?"

Dallon shook his head, smiling softly. "I'm just a bit different looking, that's all."

The kid gave him a wondrous grin in return, missing quiet a few teeth. "I like your eyes, they're like the pearls those rich folks wear."

Dallon couldn't help but blush, ruffling the kid's shaggy hair and disappearing through the window, not wanting to be caught by one of the strict nuns running the orphanage.

The little boy's words stayed with him forever, the tiny compliment sunny against the clouds of terrible thoughts that rained down on him daily.

What if Ryan reacted the same way as the boy had and actually liked his full white eyes, his lanky limbs and his ghostly tendrils?

No, Dallon couldn't risk it. He couldn't mess up with the one person he'd ever longed for, the only person that made his insides tingle, that made his mind excite every time he looked at him.

Dallon was going to stay hidden for as long as he needed, meddling with Ryan's dreams as much as he pleased.

That's just what he was about to do, prowling out of the shadows as Ryan's breaths slowed and nerves calmed, laying in bed peacefully. He had been terribly angered by something when he entered the apartment, storming around with his eyebrows pulled low, his bottom lip quivering as he obviously thought through something, murmuring to himself. Dallon didn't want his newfound desire to be mad, so he resolved to give Ryan the one thing he knew he wanted: pleasure.

Dallon slunk into the corner of the tiny bedroom, sliding to his knees as he fixated on getting into Ryan's mind.

Slipping into peoples minds was something that didn't come easy to the demon, requiring lots of power and concentration to ease in unnoticed, depending whether he was just watching or actively controlling the scene.

Whenever he managed to tap into their heads, his own body would be unconscious, asleep in the last place he was, so it was careful practice that he made sure he was cloaked properly from any human eyes.

Once inside Ryan's sleeping brain, he started to fabricate a dream, set up in the same fashion his last one had been in, this time keeping in mind Ryan's pleasure.

He changed the bed into something more timely and beautiful, a canopy bed with rosewood posts, fine details carved into the wood, carefully woven scenes of bright days sewed into the material. From the shadows, he'd accidentally seen multiple people fornicate, so he decided to copy their romantic setup; candles, rose petals and satin sheets.

He needed something else, something to rid the silence hanging in the air uncomfortably, so he set a vintage record player next to the nightstand and placed a vinyl on it, one of his favourite songs: Beethoven's 14th Sontana 'Moonlight' in C-Sharp Minor. The name was a mouthful, but the melody brought Dallon back to a better time, one of mystery and elegance.

The 'Moonlight' title was fitting, for moonlight was shining in through the grand glass window next to the bed, a view of the entire city visible, dark buildings dotted with neon lights.

Dallon internally whined, wishing that he could show himself to Ryan instead of just his shadowy tendrils. But it wouldn't be fair to Ryan- for Dickens sake, the man still thought he was coming up with the dreams himself.

Finally, Dallon placed the main character of the dream on the bed, wearing nothing but his undergarments. The demon watched carefully as the man took in his settings, eyes fluttering from one item to the next before his heartbeat sped quickly, and Dallon decided to intervene.

He slid one tendril towards Ryan, heart going heavy when the cute man shied away from it, just as Dallon shied away from loud noises. He knew what it was like to be fearful of the unknown, and felt terrible for scaring Ryan.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you darling," Dallon whispered, trying to calm Ryan's pounding heart, to thaw his stiffened body.

"W-Who are you? What are you doing?" He sounded frightened, and while Dallon had enjoyed it the previous night, it hurt him to see his love like this.

**His** love. Ryan was... his _love?_

Oh, so this was what love felt like. Dallon had never been in love before.

He liked it. No, he loved it.

"I know what you want, Ryan. I think you know you want it too, hm sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. Blazes, that name made Dallon weak.

The demon could feel Ryan's heart pitter-patter, mind flashing back to the bathroom the night before. Ryan knew what he was talking about.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about..." Ryan's eyes were darting around the room, looking for the owner of the voice teasing him. Moonlight shone on his skin, creating a twinkle in his dark eyes, shimmering and brilliant. His hands fumbled on the glowing sheets, petals getting caught between his shaking fingers, calloused and strong from years of drumming.

_Dallon wanted to hold his hand._

He reached out a tendril and wove it between Ryan's fingers, relief washing over him when the man didn't recoil, hand leaning into the silky touch of the tendril.

"Oh but _baby_ , I think you do know. I think you're just embarrassed, doesn't that sound right?" Dallon had seen the blush that spread on Ryan's face after finishing, had felt the shame that burned in his chest when he thought about being tied up. His love was embarrassed.

Ryan reluctantly nodded, afraid of giving in and openly admitting what he wanted. Dallon didn't want him to be ashamed. He just wanted to make his love feel good.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed of darling, it's just human nature." The demon reassured, snaking another tendril up Ryan's leg, that wonderful feeling of warmth flooding through his entire body when the man's heart began to slow, his eyelids growing heavy. He was giving in, and he was doing it so easily. Dallon loved it.

"And you can't help feeling like this, can you baby?" Dallon cooed as his began curling his tendril around the man's limb, skin rough against the smooth tendril. Ryan nodded again, breaths slowing, eyes drooping. He was becoming pliant in Dallon's touch, body going more limp with every word Dallon spoke softly, pacifying the cute man. "How about I give your body what it wants, okay sweetheart?"

The demon could feel his unconscious body heat up at the sight of Ryan agreeing, laid out for him among the petals, the beautiful record playing out softly in the background.

The only thing missing was Dallon's body next to him.

A shiver ran through Dallon's body as the man began to rub his tendril unknowingly, stroking it with the tough pads of his fingers, index finger and thumb running along the shadowy limb. An odd sound bubbled up at the back of the demon's throat, one that he'd never made before, a tingle of pleasure coursing through his body.

_Fuck_ , that felt **good**.

Stifling the strange new noise, Dallon tenderly guided the man towards the middle of the bed, sitting surrounded by the velvety petals, tendrils coiled around his limbs. His stomach ached at the sight, Ryan's neon blue hair shining even brighter in the moonlight, candles casting shadows across his body. The demon's eyes trailed down to his crotch, tempted by the outline of his hard cock, the evidence that he was enjoying this.

Ryan whined softly, eyes glazing over as Dallon slid a tendril up his jaw, unable to stop thinking about how cute the man was.

**Cute**. He was **cute**. He was **his**.

"Oh baby, look how badly you need it," Dallon crooned in a soft voice, one of fake pity and sympathy. "You're already hard, aren't you darling?"

Ryan nodded quickly, eyes heavy-lidded, another adorable little whine falling past his parted lips.

"Can you get on your knees for me sweetheart?"

Dallon's body grew even more hot as the man fell to his knees immediately, still fondling the tendril unconsciously, nearly melting in Dallon's touch.

The man was on his knees. For Dallon.

**_His_**.

There was something wrong with the demon. Why was he feeling like his skin was on fire, like his tendrils had gained a mind of their own?

Dallon hated humans. He wasn't supposed to be wading knee-deep in a sea of love for one; he was supposed to be killing him.

_If he killed Ryan, he wouldn't be able to live with himself._

The man made him feel high without any energy, like he was drunk on power. If he spent the rest of his life with him, he'd never have to kill again. He could get this every night, this amazing feeling, his normally cold body blazing with sparks of love.

That was the issue. He couldn't live with Ryan for the rest of his life. He would never be able to make him his, to show himself to the one human he'd ever loved. Hell, Ryan didn't even know he existed, let alone would he be fine with a demonic creature living with him.

Chasing that feeling of power, Dallon began to tie the man's limbs together, a static feeling in his mind spreading as he watched the man wriggle and cry, growing more aroused by the minute.

"You like that, don't you honey? You like being tied up, my pretty little puppet?" Dallon nearly growled, possessiveness making him dizzy. "My pretty, pretty little puppet. All mine baby, you're all mine."

Ryan was **his**. **His** love. No one else was _ever_ going to touch him.

Ryan chewed on his trembling lip, watching intently as a tendril fiddled with the band of his undergarments. Dallon was getting impatient. He wanted to see tears sparkle in his puppet's beautiful eyes, his pretty face twisted in pleasure, tongue falling out of his mouth.

He pulled down the man's underwear and coiled his tendril around Ryan's leaking cock, savouring the way his hips jerked into the tendril, the way his eyes widened in surprise and the way he gasped adorably.

"Oh, oh yes- god, _sir yes!_ " Ryan cried, nose scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut. Blue hair fell into his cute face and Dallon quickly pushed it out of his eyes, staring in awe at the wriggling man from his hiding place in Ryan's brain.

_Sir_. Ryan called him _sir_.

It was a wonderful title: old-fashioned, submissive and it sounded absolutely gorgeous falling past Ryan's lips.

Glistening tears started to roll down Ryan's cheeks as his puppet drew in shallow breaths, back arched, legs shaking beneath him.

"That's it sweetheart," Dallon whispered, every nerve in his body tingling with attraction. "You're doing so well baby, look at you, perfect little puppet."

All he wanted to do was to give his love whatever he wanted.

Ryan's hips slowed as his gasps grew more high-pitched, pupils blown unnaturally wide.

"S-Sir- oh- _come_ , m' gonna come-" His voice trembled, "Oh- _Oh!_ "

Dallon internally grinned, beyond pleased with how Ryan was reacting.

"Come then for me baby, let your body get what it wants." Dallon cooed, unable to keep the praise out of his mouth. "Sweet little thing, aren't you? My pretty little puppet."

Ryan sobbed, body writhing as Dallon felt his pleasure wash over him, then-

Darkness. Ryan had woken up.

Dallon hit his head on the wall behind him in surprise, still crouched in the corner of the room, thankful the man didn't hear. Instead, Ryan made a noise of disgust, that same burning shame crawling up his neck.

Dallon felt like a hole had been punctured right through his happiness, and now all his good feelings were leaking out.

Ryan... didn't like the dream? But he'd been the one thinking about it the previous night... perhaps he was still embarrassed?

Dallon felt a whimper rise from his throat and held it down, watching with wide eyes as the man changed and fell back into bed, mind frustrated just as it had been before.

Ryan sat up quickly, making the demon push himself further into the shadows, trying to become as small as he felt.

Ryan didn't like the dream.  
Ryan didn't like the tendrils.  
 **Ryan didn't like him.**

His love was angry at him. Ryan must have figured out that it was him, hiding in the shadows, who'd been the puppeteer of the dreams.

"Hey, thanks for the gross dreams, whatever you are..." His love's voice was jagged and sharp, dripping with sarcasm.

He didn't want him there.  
Ryan didn't want to see Dallon.  
Ryan didn't like Dallon- and he **never** would.

The thoughts stung horrendously, rendering the demon breathless as he focused on not crying out in pain.

Once the man was asleep, Dallon stumbled into the kitchen, into the closet he'd hid in yesterday. That's where he planned on staying until his fragile mind could sort this out, hidden from his love, where he could weep freely.

**Ryan didn't want him.**

**The only human he'd ever grow to love didn't want him.**

_**No one wanted him.** _

**\- END OF ACT 2 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Mini Dictionary -
> 
> Mary: noun, 1. Victorian era slang for homosexual.
> 
> Blazes: noun, 1. Used in various expressions of anger, bewilderment, or surprise as a euphemism for “hell”.
> 
> I updated super quick because I'm so excited for this story! I feel bad for springing smut on all of you so early but I promise there's lots of plot in the next chapter :)
> 
> Lemme know what you thought in the comments! <3


	3. ACT THREE - Tu m'as fait peur, mon chéri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: Nocturne in E-Flat Major, Op. 9, No.2. This is the song that plays on the music box! :)
> 
> TW: There is the use of the R word and a reference to marijuana use in this chapter, please only read if you're comfortable! <3
> 
> Enjoy! I'm sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than usual :(

**\- RYAN -**

Ryan felt terrible inside.

Guilt pricked at Ryan's skin, not only because of his wet dream the previous night, but now the creature wouldn't come out of his broom closet.

He'd woken up early that morning, flustered by the events of the night before. Ryan wanted to pretend it had never happened, but it was obvious that he'd scared whatever thing was causing the dreams into an old closet, an now it wouldn't leave.

When he hadn't awoken to a pair of bright white eyes gawking at him, relief fell over him. Had it finally left? Could his life return to normal, i.e. without strange, surreal dreams?

Nope. While pouring himself a bowl of cereal he spotted the eyes staring at him from a slate in the closet, and irritation stirred in his chest again.

"Listen, I don't know what you are and why you're here, but could you please leave?" His voice had an annoyed tone as he shouted over his shoulder, a few stray Froot Loops tumbling over the edge of the ceramic bowl onto the counter.

At his holler, the creature must have knocked into the wall, a loud thump ringing out behind Ryan's back. He couldn't help but roll his eyes, exasperated as he poured the milk into his breakfast.

So, yelling didn't seem to work. Ryan didn't know what he had expected; for the creature to open the door and scurry out? The cowardly part of Ryan was the least bit glad his polite commands hadn't convinced the thing to leave, not wanting to make contact with whatever had the power to shape his dreams.

He considered his options as he ate his breakfast in silence, the only sound coming from the crunch of the sugary cereal, or the dribble of the cold milk from his spoon.

1\. Ryan could call an exterminator.

No, he didn't have the money, and whatever the thing was seemed to have a human sentience based on its use of the English language.

2\. Ryan could call an exorcist.

No, he also didn't have the money for that, and it wasn't like he had one on speed dial. Besides, half of them were frauds, and if the creature wasn't a ghost or whatever, he'd look like a total idiot.

_'Retard,'_ Ronnie's crackly tone nagged at the back of his head, a nuisance more than anything.

3\. Ryan could open the closet door and shoo the creature out.

Nuh-uh, Ryan was not putting his face in risk of getting scratched beyond recognition all because something supernatural had taken residence in his broom closet.

4\. Ryan could treat the creature like a skittish animal and try to coax it out.

There, finally, a plan that was actually achievable. One summer in highschool he'd lived with his grandparents on their farm, tending mostly to the animals, and had loved it, the early morning sun blinding him as he trekked towards the barn, the soft silence of the sunrise disrupted by various animal grunts and huffs, the smell of hay laying thick in the air.

His favourite animals had been the wild cats that hung around the barn and kept him company while he refilled water and hay bales, mysterious little critters that walked with poise and confidence, balancing on the high beams of the farm building like miniature trapeze artists.

Sometimes, if Ryan stayed still and calm enough, one would hop down and stride over to him, rubbing its fluffy face on his exposed calf.

It would send young Ryan into a giggling fit, whiskers ticklish against his skin, falling backwards into the dirt of the barn floor. When he'd gone home that summer, he begged his mom for a cat just like the ones that lived on the barn, but she had said no.

He had loved those cats. Too bad they're probably all dead now.

Maybe that's how he should approach the creature: slow and gentle, luring it out patiently. If Ryan was in it's position, he'd be frightened too by a loud man shouting, alone in the darkness of the closet. Just because Ryan didn't fear the dark didn't mean other things didn't.

He dumped his dishes in the sink to be cleaned later and kneeled by the closet door, trying to make out the creature's vast white eyes, but they seemed to be looking away.

"Hey, it's okay..." Ryan made sure his voice was kind and pitying, the coldness of the kitchen tiles seeping in through his thin pajama pants. "I'm won't yell anymore, I promise."

Ah, there they were. Two round eyes popped out of the darkness, boring straight into his soul.

"There you are," Ryan smiled softly, shifting his weight from knee to knee as they started to hurt from digging into the hard tiles. He remembered the silky feeling of the satin sheets under him, the heavy feeling of tranquility that settled into the crevices of his mind as he laid on that unbelievably soft bed, comfortable and content.

It was the exact opposite of where he was right now.

"I'm sorry for shouting," He continued, sitting with his legs now crossed, hand on his ankle. "You must be scared, right?"

No response. He knew the creature could talk- it had been it with that teasing accent, hadn't it?

"I'm Ryan, but I guess you already know that..." He trailed off, staring straight into the empty void of it's eyes, a shiver working its way through his body. "Do you- are you the one making the dreams?"

The eyes bobbed as it gave him a small nod.

Finally, a response. It could understand him.

"Why are you doing it?" Ryan accidentally asked loudly, his curiosity getting the best of him. The creature jolted at the sudden rise in volume, backing away from the door.

" _Shit_ , I'm sorry." Ryan mentally cursed himself, all his progress flying out the window. "I won't be loud from now on, I promise for real this time."

Yikes, that didn't sound good. If Ryan was the creature, he definitely would not trust him.

"Do you have a name I can call you?"

No answer. It's was still cowering far away from the door, eyes cloaked in a layer of darkness.

This was useless. It wasn't going to answer to him, why waste time asking worthless questions?

Ryan groaned as he stood up, joints cracking like neon glow sticks did when you bent them, but instead of glowing, all he got was pain.

He padded towards his bedroom, feet picking up the dust that had settled onto his floor, mind racing for new approaches. Maybe... if he learned about the creature, he could get it to trust him enough to leave. Ryan couldn't be the only person this had happened to, could he?

A quick search on his laptop lead to thousands of different pages, all with varying names. Maybe _'shadow living in my house'_ wasn't specific enough.

_'Creature living in my house giving weird old fashion dreams'._

A narrower selection loaded, only a handful of links relating to his issue. One Yahoo! Answers question that had never been resolved, a blog post on some lucid dreaming website, and a handful of pages advertising a book with an odd title:

_'The Victorian Demon: An Age-Old Mystery Now Solved'_ , written by a woman named Breezy Weekes.

The book seemed like his best shot by a long run. The Yahoo! Answers question was barely legible, and the blog post seemed like some hippy describing a marijuana trip they had.

Unfortunately, despite being written in the age of technology, the book wasn't online anywhere. Neither were any photos of the creature, strangely enough, not even a blurry picture. Hell, even Bigfoot had a blurry picture, and everyone knew he wasn't real.

Thankfully, there was a copy available at the local library, according to it's website. Ryan sure didn't expect Ronnie to welcome him back to practices with open arms, so he had nothing to do all day. Even though he hadn't been to a library since highschool, he'd go to one, pick up the book and earn the creature's trust.

Ryan hurriedly threw on a pair of jeans and a teeshirt, stumbling over his feet as his he tripped out the door, down the stairs and into his car.

The library was a bland building, a couple of children standing around the entrance, drawing on the beige sidewalk with rainbow chalk.

Ryan smiled warmly at them while passing by, amused by their wide eyed gawks at his hair and outfit.

"Hi, I'm looking for a book about... uh... The Victorian Demon?" Ryan drummed his fingers on the desk, pulling them away quickly when the old librarian's eyes filled with disdain, mouth twisted in haughtiness. She eyed him up and down, eyes lingering on his band teeshirt and neon dyed hair.

"Do you have a card?" She deadpanned, eyes glued to her computer screen, nails clicking away at the ancient keyboard.

"Uh... no." Ryan scratched at the back of his neck, feeling the stare of everyone in the small library, obviously out of place in such an environment.

"You can read it in here, but you can't leave with it." Her gaze remained on the screen, a wrinkled hand reaching up to point to a shelf. "It should be on that shelf under V."

Ryan nodded to the ignorant librarian and stumbled his way over to the shelf, fingers slipping over the spines of books until it met with the one he was looking for.

The title was written in curly gold letters, contrasting against the plum colour of the hardback book, dusty and untouched.

Ryan warily pulled out the book like it was a trap, and a portal directly to hell would open as soon as he removed the book from its spot on the metal shelf. Thankfully, like all ordinary books, it didn't have any supernatural elements.

Ryan shuffled over to one of the cramped desks littered around the library, shoes scuffing the tacky green carpet, and took a seat, cracking open the book.

It looked as if no one had touched it since it had been brought to the library, a wave of dust coming off the cover when he flipped the title page, paper crisp and clean, words typed out in straight lines with a few accompanying diagrams.

_'The Victorian Demon is a supernatural mystery that can be dated all the way back to the early 1500s, where the first recording interactions took place. The demon's name is an attribute to its most active era during Queen Victoria's reign from 1837-1901, and in present day it can still be seen wearing timely fashion from those years.'_

That explained why most of his dreams where in black and white, and why the setting was so old looking: the creature liked old stuff.

The skeptical part of Ryan called bullshit on it being a demon, but in the whimsical, flighty part of his brain, sirens were going off. There was a demon in his house? Was it going to steal his soul- or worse, kill him?

_'The Victorian Demon has presented itself in the general public many times through the past years, but has not attempted to harm any of the bystanders, unlike it's usual habits. The demon is said to feast off of the energy human's naturally produce, between emotions, desires and ambitions, and then kill it's host.'_

Holy fuck. Holy shit. It was going to kill him? And he'd let it live in his house so graciously, hell, he'd even talked to it kindly!

_'Side-effects of coming in contact with the demon can include nausea, general distress, fatigue, inexplicable night visions, increase in heart rate, and even in some cases, fainting spells. Witnesses are said to feel "on edge" or "ill" after viewing the entity. Multiple religious organizations have referred to it as the Antichrist due to its confirmed existence, only one of the few entities confirmed to be roaming the earth currently. One eyewitness from a sighting around Arizona in 2006 said:_

_"I didn't know what was wrong (with me). I'm not a religious person, but you knew that it didn't belong on earth. It made your soul hurt just being around it- I can't explain it, it was just horrible."_

_The demon is said to be extremely tall and slender, with pupil-less eyes, brown hair, and is said to sport some sort of extra limbs from its back. If you come in contact with it, we advise you not to attempt to speak or touch it, and call Breezy Weekes at The American Supernatural Association (ASA).'_

Ryan's heart began to race while reading the paragraphs. It was dangerous? But the dream had been so tender, so kind and gentle... it must be a trap.

_'If you haven't noticed by now, there exist no copies of any photos or portraits of the demon, physically or technologically. This is because of an incident in the year 1957 in Oxford, UK, where well respected author and nobleman Henry Williams was murdered as a cause of his portrayal of the demon in the 1955 book "Grotesque Beasts That Live Among Us". From that incident, we can assume that the demon isn't fond of its appearance or any portrayals of it. If you happen to come in contact with the demon, DO NOT TAKE PHOTOS. The demon is extremely frightened by loud or shrill noises, and is said to cower at any type of screaming unless in a state of frenzy.'_

Ryan felt a twinge of sympathy in his chest. Maybe it was just misunderstood... maybe it just wanted to be left alone. Ryan knew what that felt like, to be the black sheep along a white herd, to be out of the ordinary. Most humans probably hadn't treated it very well, and maybe it was just sad.

His life was boring enough, and now that there was a demon living in his broom closet, he wasn't going to get rid of it so fast. He felt assured that if he treated it with kindness and respect that it would spare his life, and maybe he could make history doing it.

Finally, he could do something memorable in his life.

Ryan pulled out his phone and took a photo of the author's contact information, just in case things went haywire.

He didn't know why he felt so sorry for the thing. Maybe it was because of how good it had treated him in the dream, or how soft and pretty it's voice was, or how everyone portrayed it. There were always two sides to everything- for instance, he was the demon, and Ronnie was the author: obviously Ronnie wasn't going to say anything nice about Ryan, all because of who he was as a person.

Maybe the demon had just been treated unfairly in the past and was scared of humans.

Ryan shut the book quickly, warranting a glare from the nasty librarian that put the Ronnie's to shame.

The kids were still drawing in chalk when he left the building, greeted with the hot summer air, an absence of wind making everything 10x more insufferably hot.

Ryan was driving home when a neon sign caught his eye, an black arrow pointing to a yard.

'GARAGE SALE: VINTAGE ITEMS AND KIDS TOYS' it read, fold up tables piled high with different trinkets lined up behind the sign, a few people picking through the junk.

Vintage items... that sounded like something up the demon's alley.

He parked his car on the road and doubled back to the yard sale, rummaging through piles of obviously broken toys and old silverware that belonged in someone's grandma's attic.

Ryan lifted up a magazine from the year 2003 to reveal a small music box, sitting there like it was waiting for him to discover it.

He picked it up and inspected it, little carvings of roses dotting the edge, the box sitting heavy in his hands. A gold band lined the lid, matching the colour of the small wind-up key on the side. Ryan twisted it and the box began to plunk out a sad little tune, much like the song the record played in his wet dream.

Mesmerized by its haunting melody, Ryan cracked open the lid, uncovering the mechanism of the music box. Inside the lid was a small painting of a rose in a ornate glass vase, tiny droplets of water on it's crimson petals, a crescent moon shining bright yellow in the background. Ryan could barely make out the curly cursive letters scratched onto the top of the art, reading something in what he assumed to be French: _'Je t'aime à la lune et de retour'_.

It was a perfect gift for the demon. It looked exactly like something that would be placed in one of his dreams, old and mysterious, the slightest bit romantic and elegant.

"Excuse me, how much does this cost?" Ryan asked the man he assumed to be the owner of the music box, sitting far back in a folding chair, head tilted up, sunglasses covering his eyes. If Ryan didn't know any better he'd think the man was sleeping, but at the sound of Ryan's deep voice, he crooked his head towards the sound.

"Oh uh, that old thing? Well, who's it for?" The man croaked, sitting straight up, adjusting his navy, sweat soaked teeshirt.

"Uh..." Ryan didn't know how to answer that question. An animal? An entity? A demon that'd taken residence in his apartment and had given him a nightmare and a dirty dream, and he was trying to earn its trust by learning about it and buying it a gift?

"...a friend." He decided on answering.

"Ah, friends. Gifts are a pretty nice gesture, eh? Well, in that case, 20 bucks."

Ryan reluctantly palmed over the money, the gaping hole in his wallet only growing larger. It didn't matter; this was better than potentially being killed.

He drove home in a hurry, music box sitting idly on the seat next to him, gold band shining in the bright sunlight streaming in through his car windows. He could only hope that the demon took it the right way and didn't murder him in a fury.

The apartment was cool when he stepped inside, silent except for the buzz of the A.C. in the background.

Quickly, he kicked off his shoes and plodded towards the closet door, giving a few quiet knocks when he didn't see two round eyes in the slates, peeking out from the darkness. Had it just left by itself?

"Hello? Is anyone home?" He whispered, greeted by the appearance of the moon-like eyes. "Hi there again..."

Ryan sat down on the cold floor tiles, making himself comfortable, music box sitting in his lap. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise,"

The eyes stayed fixated on him, static and hollow.

"I went to the library to read about you..." Ryan continued softy, trying to keep his anxiety out of his voice, stomach growing uneasy as he remembered what he'd read. "Are you The Victorian Demon?"

It nodded, bright eyes bouncing.

"Do you have a name I can call you?" Ryan asked, not expecting a response. Nope, nothing.

An idea struck him as he stood up, groaning when his legs ached under him. He returned to the door quickly with a pen and a notebook, yellow pages blank.

"I have a nephew who's mute, and when he visits we talk like this..." He gently slid the notebook and pen under the door, hoping the demon knew how to write. "Do you wanna write your name?"

Ryan heard a faint scribble of a pen, and then the notebook was being pushed back out towards him, something written in loopy cursive letters.

"Da-lon. Dallon. Did I get that right?"

The demon nodded again.

"Hey, nice name Dallon." Ryan smiled, some of his panic melting, replaced with the same type of ease he'd had in his previous dream. "Ryan is a pretty normal name, but I've always hated my last name. Ron- I mean, people make fun of it a lot."

No reply.

"I uh- I got you a little gift, I thought you might like it since... you like old things." Ryan carefully placed the music box in front of him, watching as the door creaked open and a shadowy tendril snaked out, wrapping around the box and pulling it in.

So it was real. It had been the demon behind the dreams, those same dark limbs wrapped around his wrists, gentle and silky.

"Oh, all you gotta do is turn the thing on the side-"

A soft twinkle cut him off, muffled behind the door, the melancholy song ringing out.

"Do you- do you like it?" Ryan asked, trying to peer further into the blackness, to at least make out a mouth turned up in a smile.

When the song ended with a final plunk, Dallon twisted to wind-up key and made it play again, then again, then again.

A relieved grin tugged at the corners of Ryan's mouth, adoration creeping up on his heart. He was going to guess that the demon did like it, that beautifully sorrowful piece playing out.

"Yeah, it says something in French, but I don't know how to speak it," Ryan said, scratching the back of his neck.

The yellow notebook was being pushed out again, two little words scribbled against the demon's name.

_'Thank you.'_

Ryan beamed again, standing up to make lunch for himself. The demon- Dallon- had liked his gift. He didn't know why it made him so giddy inside, like a schoolgirl after her crush asked her to a dance. Maybe this whole 'living with a demon' thing wasn't going to be as complicated as he thought.

While Ryan made himself a sandwich, he heard the twinkle of the music box go off again, making his insides quiver with happiness even more. It made him unbelievably cheerful hearing that tinny tune play over and over from inside the closet, the soft clicks of the wind-up key turning back again, the way the notes echoed through Ryan's mind.

"Ack, I'm sorry- do you want a sandwich too?" Ryan sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the door, plate clinking on the tiles as he set it down.

Dallon shook his head, a lull in the repeated playing of the music box.

"So..." Ryan took a bite of his sandwich, chips crunching between the bread, cheese and meat. His mother always said the way he made sandwiches was disgusting, but Ryan only ever laughed and offered her some.

"Why did you choose me to... put the dreams onto?"

Ryan knew it was a risky question to ask so soon in his interrogation process, but his curiosity was eating away at him.

The pen scratched against the paper for a few seconds before it appeared from under the door.

_'You're quite handsome.'_

Ryan felt his face heat up as he turned away from the pair of eyes, not wanting it to see him blush.

"Ah- uh- oh... thank you..." Ryan nearly squeaked, unsure why the demon had taken a clear liking to him. "W-Why don't you come out so I can see what you look like?"

It was a shot in the dark, literally. The notebook remained perfectly still, halfway under the door, eyes staring into Ryan's.

"No answer... that's okay. Maybe another day." Ryan took another bite of his sandwich. " _Mphm_ \- I heard people aren't very nice to you when you go out... that must make you feel scared, right?"

Dallon nodded.

"You don't have to be scared here... I absolutely promise I won't hurt you." Ryan felt like he was talking to a frightened child, gentle and pleasant. "I think you have a very pretty voice."

The eyes looked away for an instant before returning, notebook popping out.

_'Thank you.'_

It was slow process, but at least he'd gotten it to talk to him. Ryan couldn't help but feel special, like he'd accomplished something amazing today.

There was something about being around the demon that made his nerves calm, like all his worries had dismissed themselves. No more Ronnie, no more band, no more hating his boring life. Just those big white eyes gazing back into his, sparkling like the moon did on clear nights, the muffled twinkle of the music box playing once more.

Ryan wished it didn't make him feel so good to know he'd made the demon happy.

**\- DALLON -**

Didn't love him.

**Ryan didn't love him.**

Ugly. Disgusting. Horrid.

Dallon didn't deserve someone as beautiful as Ryan, not after what he did, making him feel uncomfortable.

Ryan **hated** his dreams. Ryan **hated him.**

The words jabbed into the demon's heart, like horrible nails fabricated from insults and terrible thoughts.

No more warm feeling. No more walking on air. No more tingle and no more desires.

Black tears began to run down Dallon's cheeks as he cried silently into the stale air of the closet, shrouded in darkness like he should be. A creature so repulsive and abominable should stay hidden for eternity, suffering quietly, just like he deserved for making his love feel bad.

No, Ryan wasn't his love. He never would be.

Dallon didn't know where he'd gone wrong, other than that he was a disgusting thing that shouldn't have meddled with Ryan's life. All that time, confidence must have blinded him to the reality. Yes, that was it. He had been blind. He should have realized straight away that Ryan would never love a demon, especially one like Dallon.

The sudden flicker of the kitchen lights turning on made Dallon halt his weeping, peering out between two slates in the door of the closet. Ryan was up and seemingly in a good mood, until he noticed Dallon's staring.

His demeanor turned frustrated almost immediately, making Dallon's heart shrivel in his chest, a low whimper aching in his throat. He was a **nuisance**. He was a _pest_.

"Listen, I don't know what you are and why you're here, but could you please leave?" Ryan shouted, making Dallon flinch at the sudden loudness, knocking into the thin wall of the closet.

Dallon had to bite his lip so hard blood was drawn to keep himself from crying out, weak from going through such emotional highs and lows. That, and the fact that he hadn't eaten in a couple days, afraid of draining Ryan's energy.

He was a meater. He was being vazey. He was a creep.

He was _miserable_.

The bitter taste of his own blood blossomed on his sensitive tongue, revoltingly acidic and thick. Dallon's blood was the same colour and consistency as his tears, black and syrupy, but whenever he bled, he bled a lot.

The inky fluid began to drip onto the floor from his lip, and Dallon only chastised himself further. Now he was making a mess of Ryan's dreams and his home.

Dallon turned away from the bright shafts of light shining in through the slates, trying to compose himself, to stop his ragged breathing before Ryan heard. There was a clatter of ceramic dishes, then the sound of Ryan's bare feet pattering towards him, joints cracking as he kneeled down in front of the door.

Ryan was going to shout at the demon, Dallon was sure of it. Preparing for his worst nightmare, he curled himself up in a ball, wishing he could fade away into the shadows, not being a bother to the one person he'd ever felt tender towards.

"Hey, it's okay..." Ryan's deep voice was quiet and mellow, easing Dallon's tight shoulders, soothing his petrified nerves. Ryan wasn't mad?

"I'm won't yell anymore, I promise." The teal-haired man continued, luring Dallon out of his fetal position, a warm smile settled onto his tired face. "There you are,"

Hope bloomed in the demon's empty chest, unable to keep his eyes off the beautifully gentle man, the dusk in his deep set eyes, or the adorable dimple on his chin, covered in scruff.

"I'm sorry for shouting," Ryan said, words soft and genuine. "You must be scared, right?"

Dallon had been scared, but now all he wanted to do was nuzzle Ryan's broad chest, to plant a kiss on the straight slope of his nose and to tell him to never apologize for anything ever again. The kind man was emitting pity and sorrow, a grim colour on Ryan's neon energy, something Dallon hated to see.

"I'm Ryan, but I guess you already know that..."

Dallon could listen to his low voice all day, better than any music he'd ever heard, his soft tone making its home in Dallon's heart. Exhausted, the demon's mind was flicking between worries and serenity, a pattern that made him dizzy.

"Do you- are you the one making the dreams?"

Dallon couldn't stop himself from nodding, aching to open the door and fall into Ryan's lap, to kiss him and mark him up, to make him his.

But Dallon knew how his love would react. He'd cry out in surprise and reel away from the demon, eyes widened in terror, heart frozen in his chest. He'd call the police, or worse, the American Supernatural Association, and have Dallon taken away. He'd never see the light of Ryan's hair again, never feel the toughness of his calloused hands intertwined with his, never hear his sounds of pleasure.

The American Supernatural Association had been trying to capture Dallon for years, especially one woman named Breezy Weekes. The demon had a few close calls, getting caught in confined spaces like closed off alleyways and the back rooms of libraries, but he always managed to slip past them and disappear into the night again. He could only imagine what they'd do to him if they managed to catch him.

"Why are you doing it?" Ryan's voice was suddenly loud, making Dallon's sensitive ears ring with pain. He jolted away from the door, scurrying so his back was pressed up against the furthest wall of the closet, cowardly.

" _Shit_ , I'm sorry. I won't be loud from now on, I promise for real this time."

Dallon couldn't stop his tendrils from trembling, hands pulled in close to his chest. Ryan yelled at him. Ryan didn't like him.

If Ryan broke his first promise, what other ones would he break?

"Do you have a name I can call you?" Ryan asked, but no matter how much he wanted to answer, Dallon stayed far away from the door.

He couldn't trust Ryan. He couldn't trust anyone, not after years of being treated like an uncontrollable beast, a danger to public, a disgrace to humanity.

Yet however much Dallon wanted to hate Ryan, just as he did most humans, he couldn't. Every time he felt that foul venom crawling up his spine, binding around his broken heart, all it took was one glance at Ryan for it to dissolve, replaced with an all-consuming glow.

Before he had begun toying with the man's nighttime visions, Dallon had only ever experienced secondhand love through his collection of novels, stories of brave heroes and heroines that always had happy endings. The demon had always longed for a relationship like the ones in his favourite stories. They always described love as a powerful drug, one that made you yearn to be together forever with your partner, one that made you go great lengths to ensure the happiness of them. Love was described as an invisible bond that couldn't be broken by anything, and when you were apart, you were incomplete without the person. A magnetic force pulling you together, a higher power bringing you closer until you never wanted to let go, bodies sharing heat and passion.

Love to Dallon was something holy and unreachable, something he'd never get to experience. That was, until he had realized what the strange feeling he felt towards Ryan was.

Dallon was in love for the first time, and he had messed it all up by moving too fast, by being himself.

Ryan sighed loudly as he stood up, disappearing into his bedroom, long pajama pants getting caught under his feet. Dallon held his breath until he heard the man leave the apartment in a hurry, the white soles of his shoes squeaking against the wood floors as the heavy door slammed shut.

Dallon could leave right now. He could disappear back into the night, leaving Ryan with nothing but a head full of odd memories and feelings of puzzlement. The demon could pretend none of this had ever happened and continue living his bleak life, destined for a lonesome existence. 

He knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't pretend he'd never felt love, experienced those unbelievable highs, seen everything he ever wanted to. He couldn't put on an act like he always did when his emotions caught up with him, couldn't play the game where he pretended everything was fine and he normal.

Dallon knew he was meant to be with Ryan. He knew that their bodies would fit together perfectly, that there would always be a gaping hole that needed to be filled by his love, and if he left now, he'd never be the same.

Dallon buried his face in his knobby knees, eyes burning with hot tears. 

He was too **clingy**. He was too **sensitive**. He was too **fragile**.

He didn't know how long he stayed in that position, dirtying his slacks, black ink trickling down his cheeks, pooling on the dusty floor of the closet. His audience consisted of spiders and cobwebs, barely visible, even with his strong eyesight.

Finally, he heard the click of the front door, the clatter of Ryan's shoes being thrown off, then quiet footsteps towards his hiding spot.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" Ryan's tone was soft and easy, Dallon's heart picking up speed when he caught a glimpse of his mouth turned up in a pleasant smile, crawling towards the door. "Hi there again..."

"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," Ryan repeated what he'd said earlier, eyes flitting between Dallon and a box on his lap. "I went to the library to read about you... are you The Victorian Demon?"

Dallon's stomach twisted at that name, mind flooding with memories of everything he'd ever read about himself, how terrible and ghastly he was. Ryan must have read them too, and seen how humans perceived him, a monstrous being that was hellbent on manslaughter.

"Do you have a name I can call you?" Ryan asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

_'Open your mouth to talk and he'll hate your voice. He'll run away, just like everyone else does.'_ One of his terrible thoughts sneered in his ear, gaining a voice of it's own. _'You can't answer. He'll hate it. He'll hate you.'_

Too wrapped up in his hurtful mentality, Dallon hadn't even noticed that Ryan left and returned with a bright yellow pad of paper.

"I have a nephew who's mute, and when he visits we talk like this..." Dallon watched as a notebook and a pen appeared under the door, warm compared to his frozen hands. "Do you wanna write your name?"

Dallon cautiously picked up the pen like it was covered in poison, hand wobbling over the paper. It had been years since he had last written something, a task so small almost impossible for Dallon to complete. His letters were hideously crooked and wavy, a disgrace to cursive writing.

"Da-lon. Dallon. Did I get that right?" Ryan's nose crinkled adorably as he read, the sound of Dallon's name mispronounced in his mouth the only thing the demon wanted to hear.

"Hey, nice name Dallon." Ryan's shoulders fell, grinning like he was talking to a long lost friend. "Ryan is a pretty normal name, but I've always hated my last name. Ron- I mean, people make fun of it a lot."

Ryan said his name. Ryan liked his name. Love fluttered in Dallon's chest, almost swooning at how light he felt.

"I uh- I got you a little gift, I thought you might like it since... you like old things." Ryan took the box off his lap and pushed it gently towards the door.

Dallon wanted to grab Ryan's gift, he really did. But his fear of being seen leaped into his throat, an invisible force blocking him from getting it.

_'Just do it. Come on you coward, just open the door and take it. He went through the trouble of buying you a gift and this is how you accept it?'_

Using whatever mental strength he had left, Dallon guardedly opened the door and slid one of his tendrils out, blood rushing to his head as he watched Ryan's expression closely. His thick eyebrows raised quickly in marvel, face only shifting to a shocked expression for a split second before returning to it's calm one.

Swiftly, Dallon coiled around the tiny box and pulled it towards him, shutting the door before Ryan could see anymore of him. He'd already shared too much.

It was a music box, decorated with Dallon's favourite flower, carvings and details flawless. Inside was a exquisite painting, one that strangely resembled the scene of Ryan's dream with moonlight and a rose, the words ' _Je t'aime à la lune et de retour_ ' written in wispy gold lettering.

Dallon had learned French decades ago, the language of romance, yet it took him a minute to translate. That phrase meant...

That phrase meant ' _I love you to the moon and back.'_

No, he didn't mean that. Ryan probably didn't know French, like most people in the U.S. It must be a mistake- that was all. Dallon couldn't let himself get caught up in a small misunderstanding Ryan had made.

"Oh, all you gotta do is turn the thing on the side-" Ryan began, but Dallon already knew how to work it. He had owned a music box like this back in his favourite decades, one of his most treasured items. In the late 1970s he lost it coming to America from France, most likely now gathering moss in the bottom of the ocean.

When Dallon cranked the key, the music box began to play an elegant tune, notes dancing around his ears. It was a piece Dallon didn't know, but that didn't matter. Ryan had bought him something so beautifully _him-_ it was perfect.

Dallon sank even further into the pool of emotions he had for Ryan, heart skipping beats along with the twinkling melody of the music box, hurriedly twisting the key so that he could hear it again. Ryan had went out and learned about Dallon, and had bought this for _him._ It was the most meaningful gift Dallon had every received.

It was the only gift Dallon had ever received.

His cheeks ached from smiling so hard, waves of infatuation washing over him as his thoughts kept crashing down, a white warmth spreading over him like a blanket. As soon as the tune stopped he repeated it, thumbs running over the ornate rose carvings, mind repeating the French phrase.

The closet that had been so dark and sorrowful a few moments ago was now full of light and euphoria, lively ballrooms coming to life in front of him, women and men dancing together to the graceful music, notes tickling his ears. Dallon could barely contain the storm of emotions that swept through him, love settling into his stomach, excitement and exhilaration pulsing in his fingertips.

He loved the music box. He loved Ryan.

He loved Ryan so much he couldn't hear whatever words the man was saying, wrapped up in his own little world, one where he and Ryan could dance together to the tune freely. They wouldn't have any worries in the world except staying close together, sharing laughs when Ryan would step on Dallon's feet, hearts beating together in rhythm.

The demon had read the phrase ' _tugged on heartstrings_ ' a million times, but only now did he really understand what it mean. With every pluck of the comb, every little note that filled the cramped closet, fantasies of simple, lovely things played behind his eyes.

He wanted to dance with Ryan, let it be in a fancy ballroom or right there in the apartment, bodies swaying together, hands intertwined.

Dallon would reach down and their lips would brush softly, a magical feeling hanging in the air around them. Time would stop as they stood there, foreheads pressed together, a silent 'I love you' passing between them.

Except he couldn't. They were only fantasies, and when Dallon returned to the real world, he was still trapped in the closet, a barrier between him and Ryan. He was still a demon, and Ryan was still a naive human who had no idea what was running through Dallon's mind.

_Ryan._ He needed to thank him for the incredible gift.

Dallon scribbled out a quick ' _thank you_ ' on the notepad, hands shaking uncontrollably, and pushed it out under the door. The smile that crossed Ryan's face when he saw it made Dallon's heart tremble, an electric current zipping through his body.

Dallon continued to play the music box on repeat as Ryan worked away in the kitchen, letting the melody sweep over him, dragging the demon into the past. It was impossible to put into words how much he wanted to go back in time and bring Ryan with him, where they could live out the rest of their days together, where Dallon and him could be together openly. Each day he could wake up next to the man, the golden morning sun making everything seem hazy, bodies pressed together bare underneath the thin sheets.

The sound of Ryan setting his plate down on the floor made Dallon snap out of his daydream, letting the enchanting song fade away as the music box plunked it's last note in his hands.

"Ack, I'm sorry- do you want a sandwich too?"

Dallon shook his head, face blooming warm at Ryan's generosity.

"So..." There was the crunch of food, then some muffled words, then Ryan's actual sentence. "Why did you choose me to... put the dreams onto?"

How was Dallon supposed to answer that? He couldn't come right out the gate confessing everything to Ryan, how he was the first person Dallon had ever fallen in love with, how he made him feel amazing inside, or how badly he wanted to show himself to Ryan.

Dallon couldn't tell Ryan how he was ugly, how no matter how much his heart craved endearment and kisses and cuddles, his rotten mind would always stop him with it's vile thoughts. 

When it came down to it, Dallon believed Ryan would never be able to accept his appearance. But... that didn't mean Dallon couldn't try his hand at flirting.

' _You're quiet handsome._ ' Dallon shoved the paper under the door before he could freeze up, heart racing as he awaited Ryan's reaction.

The teal-haired man's face grew ten shades redder, avoiding eye contact with the demon. He was emitting the same type of embarrassed energy he had after masturbating, painted in bright pinks and red, a blush creeping up his neck. "Ah- uh- oh... thank you... W-Why don't you come out so I can see what you look like?"

Dallon reached for the door handle without thinking before his thoughts caught up to him.

_'Trap. It's a trap. You can't go out- he'll be scared off. He just wants you to come out so he can get you to leave. He would never want to actually see you._ '

Dallon placed his hand on the floor in defeat, a rush of gloom coming over him. He- He _couldn't._

"No answer... that's okay. Maybe another day." Ryan said without prodding any further, munching down on his lunch. " _Mphm_ \- I heard people aren't very nice to you when you go out... that must make you feel scared, right?"

Dallon nodded, drawn to the man's sympathy, the way he spoke so honestly and directly.

"You don't have to be scared here... I absolutely promise I won't hurt you." Ryan cocked his head to the side, making his teal hair fall across his face. Dallon wanted to reach out and brush it out of his eyes, a tame little gesture he found himself almost doing too often.

"I think you have a very pretty voice."

Ryan was smiling genuinely, the softest person Dallon had ever come across. 

Flustered, Dallon scrawled out a thank you, still unable to make his voice work.

Ryan said his voice was pretty. His love thought his voice was pretty.

Maybe he would think the rest of him was pretty too.

**\- END OF ACT 3 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Mini Dictionary -
> 
> Meater: noun, 1. a coward
> 
> Vazey: adjective, 1. stupid, idiotic
> 
> I feel like this took me forever to write and I'm so sorry there isn't very much going on in this chapter, but things get much better next chapter believe me <3 :)
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe! Let me know what you thought in the comments <3


	4. ACT FOUR - Il a arraché un pétale de ma rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is the Vivaldi Variation! Play this whenever lol :)
> 
> !!TW!!: This chapter includes references and description of self harm, violence, descriptions of body horror, graphic descriptions of murder, the use of the R word and homophobic language. Please please please do not read if you're not comfortable with this, and remember: you are beautiful and loved <3
> 
> Enjoy!

**\- RYAN** -

Ryan woke up with an empty mind, disappointment flooding through his chest. The room was still dark, an absence of any light, between the two moons of Dallon's eyes and the morning sunlight.

His sleep had been undisturbed by any dreams, mind floating through blank unconsciousness like any average night.

All afternoon Ryan had sat in front of the closet door and talked to Dallon, heart growing heavier and heavier as he learned more about the demon and its backstory. His pity only grew larger as it became apparent the demon had a difficult life full of loneliness and hate.

"Where are you from?"

_'I've traveled the entire world. I can't recall where I begun.'_ Dallon's letters were growing more and more refined with every note, short dashes where the pen's ink had decided to stop.

"Do you have a mom or a dad...?" Ryan said softly, trying to come off as friendly and not invasive.

_'No. For a short period I was one of an angel of God, but I displayed lust and I was punished with this body.'_

Woah, so God was real? And so were angels? Well, Dallon was real, so Ryan didn't know why he was still surprised.

"What do you mean by punished?"

Ryan heard the scratch of the pen, then paper crumpling, then more scratching.

_'God created my earthly form as a punishment for disobeying his divine rules. He made sure that whenever people would see me they would be frightened and repulsed, a monster that fed off of human energy. This is why I do not want you to see me.'_

Ryan ran his hands over the perfectly dotted Is and crossed Ts, a dull pain spreading through his chest as he read Dallon's words.

All he could think about was how alluring his voice had been, how sweet his touch was, a hole growing in his heart while the realization set in that Dallon was ashamed of his appearance.

"I-I'm so sorry, that must be awful," Ryan's voice cracked on the last note, frustrated by how he'd treated the demon previously. It had been so kind and made him feel unbelievably good, and in return all Ryan did was contribute to its shame. "You- you really did make me feel good yesterday night... I was just dealing with some other shit."

Ryan's mind flashed back to Ronnie's beady eyes glaring into his, the opposite of how Dallon looked at him.

Staring into the demon's white eyes brought a feeling of tranquility and safety over Ryan, both pairs of eyes tied together by peacefulness and a deep understanding Ryan couldn't uproot.

"-and, I did actually like the names..." Ryan said quietly, like he didn't want Dallon to hear him openly admit that he enjoyed being called 'baby' and 'sweetheart' and 'darling'. He didn't want Dallon to know how it made his stomach fill with butterflies, paper-thin wings fluttering with joy and warmth, words settling deep into the fragile part of his brain where he stored all his deepest desires.

"Do you need to... y'know, eat?"

The demon nodded, eyes moving the slightest bit closer to the closet door.

"How uh... how does that work?" Ryan's mind was flashing through images of crappy vampire movies he'd watched with his mom, Robert Patterson's mouth attached to a girl's neck, or a group of teenagers sitting in a circle, chanting ancient nonsense. He had read that the demon "ate" energy, but he had absolutely no idea what that meant.

_'If it is alright with you, may I take some of your energy? It won't hurt and you won't die.'_

"Oh, um, sure I guess," Ryan sat awkwardly still, unsure what to expect.

Dallon must have closed his eyes, every muscle in Ryan's body tensing as he prepared for the worst.

But instead, static pricked at his brain, a frizzy feeling eating away his mind. It didn't hurt, just as Dallon had promised, but it wasn't the most normal sensation in the world, pins and needles poking through his head, growing stronger the more he focused on them.

And then, it disappeared just as quickly as it came.

_'Thank you.'_

"You were right, that didn't hurt." Ryan smiled, still feeling a bit woozy. "So what, you just took part of my soul or something?"

_'I took part of your energy which regenerates over time. Your emotions directly influence the amount you have at any given time. Why are you sad?'_

Fuck, the demon could figure out what he was feeling? There was no sense in hiding his true emotions from Dallon anymore then; he probably already knew.

"I just... I feel bad for being mean earlier. I know it can't be easy being you, and I've been treated the same in the past. It... doesn't make you feel very good about yourself."

Ryan thought back to all the times he'd cried late at night after Ronnie said gays should burn in hell, furious at himself for being gay. Ryan had hated himself, hated how he felt towards men, hated that he was constantly ridiculed and harassed because of who he was.

And most of all, he hated how he always put up with it. Day after day, practice after practice of Ronnie and his gang of followers calling him gross, making dirty jokes that were more insults than anything, doing illegal shit and blackmailing Ryan into staying silent. He never did anything, and the one time he stood up to Ronnie, he was too chicken to follow through with it.

_'Your band doesn't like you?'_ The notebook slid out from under the door.

"How- how did you know?"

_'You were thinking about them. I'm sorry for looking, I won't do it again.'_

Ryan narrowed his eyes, an exasperated sigh coming from deep inside him. "They're just assholes, it's not a big deal."

_'They called you names. At the concert they made you play at the very back. They make you feel angry.'_

"There's nothing I can do about it, so it's no use getting mad about anymore. The lead singer Ronnie, he's- he's just a kid and I'm the adult. If anything, it's my fault for being gay."

_'No. Don't say that. It's not your fault for being who you are. For me, it's entirely my fault for looking like this.'_

That horrible wave of sorrow crashed down over Ryan again, guilt and sadness for the creature building up inside his chest like a terrible pressure.

"I'm sure you're not as ugly as you think Dallon," Ryan cooed, leaning up against the door in an attempt to feel closer to the demon. He couldn't explain the unyielding empathy he felt towards him, wishing he could give him a big hug and tell him that he wasn't a monster. "I bet you're just as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside."

The notebook remained still under the door for what felt like an eternity before Ryan felt it push up against his thigh.

_'Thank you. No one has ever called me beautiful before. No one has ever gotten me a present.'_

Ryan's heart melted, head leaning against the door, legs crossed in front of him.

This wasn't the horrifying beast the book described. He was just a misunderstood creature, deprecated and condemned for a mistake he had made centuries ago, trapped in an unfortunate existence.

Ryan had made a mistake years ago too: joining Ronnie's band, and now he was stuck with the burden of being associated with a bunch of jerks, the knowledge that any day Ronnie could decide to start a rumour and end his career hanging over him.

"We're not so different, huh?"

_'I guess not, sweetheart.'_

Sweetheart. So Dallon did know his true feelings towards the pet names.

Ryan couldn't stop the smile that crept up on his mouth, face dusted pink, those little butterflies of love beginning to dance in his stomach.

That's why clouds of disappointment fell over him when woke up dreamless, body and mind craving the affection alike.

Dallon was still cowered away in the closet when Ryan went to make himself breakfast, blank eyes watching every one of his moves carefully. From his bedroom he had heard the demon play the music box as he was falling asleep, warmth settling down into his stomach as the twinkling tune faded away.

"Good morning," Ryan yawned and rubbed his eyes, tripping over his pajama pants as he opened the fridge. "Did you... sleep well?"

Ryan shuffled over to the closet door while holding the milk carton, reading Dallon's cursive letters.

_'Good morning darling. I slept well, how did you sleep?'_

Ryan blushed as he made himself a bowl of cereal. "Uh, I slept okay. No dreams though..."

He settled down next to the door with his cereal as Dallon wrote something, pen scribbling over the notepad.

_'I didn't know you wanted them. I don't think you'd like to see me.'_

"Dallon," Ryan sighed, heart breaking at the demon's words. "I... I really did like them, and I really liked you, and I really want to see you."

The notebook stayed silent.

"Uh... I have a concert tonight downtown, if you want to come out and stretch your legs..." Ryan continued awkwardly, embarrassed of coming on so strong so suddenly.

_'With your band?'_

"Yeah, but I'll be fine, I'm used to dealing with them." Ryan drank the remaining milk from his bowl, wiping his mouth with his floppy pajama sleeve.

_'Good luck sweetheart.'_

Ryan's heart skipped a beat, even if he dreaded having to interact with Ronnie after what he said at the last practice.

He was starting to really like having the demon around, a bright fuzzy feeling overcoming him whenever he thought of Dallon, or Dallon's voice, or even though he didn't want to admit it, maybe kissing Dallon.

It had been so long since he'd last experienced any affection and Dallon's array of pet names wasn't helping very much.

He only wished he could see what Dallon looked like in real life.  
  


After a day of lounging around, Ryan scarfed down a microwave meal and said a goodbye to Dallon, stomach twisting itself in knots as he got into his car.

People had started to line up outside the concert hall downtown, bottles of alcohol reflecting the streetlights as Ryan drove past, chest aching in agony.

He slithered in through the backstage door, trying to get past Ronnie's greenroom without being noticed.

"Hey shithead, why don't you come over here and suck my dick, eh?"

God fucking dammit. He had only made it worse.

"Ronnie-" Ryan staggered into the dim room, avoiding everyone's glare, staring at his black Vans. "-I'm just here to play the drums..."

"Oh really? 'Cuz I thought you were the male stripper we hired, y'know, since you have the body for it." Ronnie was smirking, drinking in the laughs of the rest of the band.

When Ryan finally looked up, they were all sitting around on a couch, feet propped up on the small coffee table, all wearing the same cocky grins.

"Hey semen, go grab us some beers from the fridge next door." The guitarist demanded without even taking a glance at the quivering man in the doorway.

Ryan's insides felt like they were dying, wishing he was back at home talking to Dallon from behind the door, pet names scribbled out in beautiful loopy letters.

With no second thought, Ryan snuck into the empty room and piled the glass bottles into his arms, handing them to the preoccupied band members.

Ryan made himself comfortable in the opposite corner of the room, trying to block out the teenagers' snickers until it was time to go out.

The roar of the crowd was normally deafening to Ryan, but his mind was elsewhere as he shuffled over to his drum set, cloaked by the shade of the stage while the spotlight was on Ronnie.

He stumbled through the songs, the dread in his stomach growing more and more with every slip-up he made, Ronnie's scratchy voice echoing through the room.

Ryan couldn't wait to get home, to talk to the demon about whatever in the world, eating a midnight snack he scrapped together while sitting in front of the closet.

Finally, the concert was over and Ronnie left the stage, the rest of the band following close behind. Ryan remained on the stage for as long as he could, taking slow steps towards backstage, head hanging low.

"You fucking retard, what the fuck was that?" Ronnie was standing in his usual stance, arms crossed, feet planted shoulder width apart.

"I was just distracted Ronnie... 'm sorry..." Ryan scratched at the nape of his neck, beginning to gather his stuff so he could escape whatever punishment Ronnie had planned.

Except it wouldn't be the soft type of punishment Dallon had given him, gentle touches and pretty pet names. It would be harsh and mean, homophobic slurs, or maybe he would be fired.

No, Ryan would love to be fired. Ronnie would never give that to him.

"Listen fag, for messing up tonight, you're not gonna tell anyone about what we did." Ronnie started striding towards the back entrance, band members trailing after him with cheeky smirks. Ryan had no choice but to follow, stomach flipping.

Ronnie led them out to the parking lot, ignoring the stray fans that stood around begging for photos and autographs.

Ryan didn't understand how anyone could be attracted to Ronnie, let alone it be a bunch of edgy looking teenage girls.

They all stopped around a dirty looking van, mimicking Ronnie's trademark pose.

"Wh-What is this?" Ryan said, more confused than anything.

"We got a van for your piece of shit drums and Jacky's guitar and Tyler's bass. And you're not gonna ask where we found it."

"You stole a fucking van?!" Ryan nearly screamed, warranting confused looks from the small cliques of girls standing around in the dark parking lot.

"Yeah, and you're not gonna say shit, got it faggot?" Ronnie spat, sudden wind whipping his black hair around his face.

Ryan couldn't fucking believe it. This was the final straw; Ronnie had committed an actual serious crime, and Ryan would be considered an accomplice.

Ryan couldn't go to jail. He was the adult, he was accountable for Ronnie's well-being, and this would all be put on him.

"Ronnie, you- you fucking idiot! If you're caught- if we're caught we're gonna end up in jail- I can't-" Ryan sputtered in disbelief, a storm of anger gathering in his head. "You can't fucking do this!"

"Oh my god, shut up queer, you're such a drama queen," One of them rolled their eyes, peeling off from where they were leaning against the van.

"Fuck, I'm leaving. And I'm calling the police. This is- this is too much." Ryan turned to go back into the concert hall, hands shaking.

" _No you fuckin' won't,_ " Ronnie's voice was glaringly low, causing Ryan to stop in his tracks.

Ryan wasn't going to chicken out, not this time.

"Ronnie, this is enough. You stole a fucking van!" Ryan shrieked, words wavering.

"Yeah, and what? You won't say anything, because of you do, we'll find whatever boyfriend you have now and tell him how you're cheating on him."

"Ronnie, I'm done. I'm calling the police."

Before Ryan knew what was happening, Ronnie was taking two big steps towards him, pulling his arm back, and then his fist was colliding with Ryan's face.

At first, he couldn't feel anything but shock, ears ringing as his vision went white quickly, a spell of dizziness washing over him. He felt like he was seeing cartoon stars, his cheek beginning to throb as the realization of what just happened set in.

"Ow- did you fucking punch me?!" Ryan yelled as pain began to flourish through his face, stumbling over his own feet.

Ronnie was shouting something back, but it was lost to the rush of blood pumping through his ears, adrenaline coursing through him as his jaw started to ache.

Ryan scurried back into the venue and threw his shit together, running out the back door, weaving through the small crowd of fans waiting outside and shoving them away when they grabbed at his clothes.

"S-Sorry- I'm sorry-" He mumbled, cheek starting to burn like it was swelling up. Car. He needed to get to his car.

He dumped his bag and drumsticks in the back, swallowing back the tears that stung at his eyes. He wasn't weak. He couldn't be weak. He needed to get home and ice his face.

The drive home flew by quickly, tripping up the stairs and throwing the door open, tears beginning to streak down his face. Since when could Ronnie punch so fucking hard?

"Ow ow ow- fuck me, fuck me," Ryan muttered, pressing a bag of frozen peas to his reddened cheek, more tears slipping down his face.

He wasn't a wimp. He wasn't a fucking wimp.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dallon staring at him with his milky eyes, silently watching Ryan break down in his kitchen.

"God... I'm such a fucking idiot..." Ryan whispered to god-knows-who, something cracking inside him.

"I'm such. A fucking. Idiot." Ryan repeated, slumped over his kitchen table, gripping onto the bag so hard it might explode.

He couldn't help but a laugh, a twisted kind of empty laugh with nothing behind it. "Why did I ever think I could stand up to that little shit... ha! I'm a moron,"

Ryan slipped off his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, and fell into bed, eyes a constellation of tears.

He left the bag resting on his cheek as he stared at the ceiling, sour thoughts passing through his head.

Ronnie had him twisted around his dirty little finger, ready to do anything he desired, just like the rest of the band would. And now he'd actually committed a crime, and Ryan was going to be blamed for it, and Ronnie would get off free just like he always did.

Ryan closed his eyes, letting the coldness seep into his bones, cheek beginning to go numb as his mind slowed down. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

He felt the blankets shift over him, and then there was a weight pressing into the other side of the bed. Someone was laying next to him.

Ryan didn't dare open his eyes, rolling over and letting the bag slid off his cheek, falling onto the bed. He couldn't stop himself from moving in closer to the figure, nuzzling into it's neck, warm and safe from the outside world.

"What's troubling you, sweetheart?" It had a pretty, smooth voice, words making Ryan's heavy heart flutter.

"Mm... It's nothing..." Ryan mumbled, immediately regretting it when his cheek began to ache again.

"Baby, you can tell me anything... what happened to your face, doll?" The figure began to trace Ryan's spine, fingers rubbing gently against Ryan's bare skin.

Ryan shivered, burrowing his nose further into the crook of the figure's neck, ignoring the sting of pain that flowed through his head. "I just... Some asshole punched me..."

"How did that happen darling?" The figure smelled like a rose garden, skin soft against Ryan's face, cheek beginning to throb again as he continued to nuzzle into the embrace.

"Ronnie, he- he stole a van... and when I tried to call the police he sucker punched me..."

"Oh _honey_ , that's terrible," Ryan had no doubt that the figure was Dallon, same alluring voice as he had in all his dreams. The only issue was Ryan wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not.

"I'm fine, it's just the principle of the thing... he just- he gets away with everything and it pisses me off so much..." Ryan sighed, body pressing closer to Dallon's like it had a mind of it's own. "I just wanted to stop him, but once again, I'm the loser in the fight."

"Do you want to forget about it, sweetheart?" Dallon said, voice low just as Ronnie's had been, but it wasn't dangerous. It was sweet and gentle, like they were sharing an intimate moment, and speaking any louder would end it.

Ryan nodded, opening his eyes to try and see Dallon, disappointed when all he could make out was his silhouette in the darkness of the room.

Before Ryan knew what was happening, his face was inching closer to Dallon's, some strong emotion overcoming him.

His lips met Dallon's, chaste and warm, brushing gently against each other as Ryan melted into the kiss, every angry thought he'd had about Ronnie dissolving into thin air. All he could think about was how soft Dallon's lips were, how Dallon's tongue was flicking at his mouth and how easily he parted his lips and let Dallon slip his tongue in.

The demon tasted like dark chocolate, a sickly sweetness hiding deep under a layer of bitterness, all his previous pain in his cheek forgotten as he chased more of that sugary taste. Ryan was ashamed of how he was sucking at where their mouths met, hand reaching up to cup Dallon's face as a tendril mimicked the same action, velvety against his tear soaked skin.

"Sweetheart... mon chéri, my darling," Dallon muttered against Ryan's lips, pulling away to catch his breath. His pet names made Ryan swoon, a rush of adoration coming over him as his mind raced to calculate what just happened.

"Dal, honey... is- is this a dream?" It all felt too real, the feeling of Dallon's sharp jawline under the pads of his fingers, the way his skin felt against Ryan's.

"Would you like it to be?"

"...No. I want this to be real life, and I want to kiss you again." Ryan whispered, heart leaping into his throat as he felt Dallon's lips on his again, tongue darting out to taste more of the demon's mouth. A small gasp escaped him as Dallon caught his bottom lip between his teeth, applying the slightest pressure before letting go and soothing it with his tongue.

"Mm... do you feel better babydoll?" Dallon asked softly, another tendril sliding up the side of Ryan's torso, pulling him in closer until their bodies were flush.

"Mhm... I'd feel better if I could see who I was kissing though..." Ryan couldn't stop it from slipping out of his mouth, curiosity overwhelming him.

"'M sorry baby... I just don't want to disappoint you..." Dallon trailed off, hand still rubbing patterns into Ryan's back.

"I bet you're real pretty Dal," Ryan began to trace his finger across Dallon's face, feeling around for any defining features. "You've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, and such a pretty voice too... I'm sure you've got a pretty face to match, hm?"

"I don't know if that's true darling," Dallon said, intertwining his lanky hand with Ryan's free one. "I don't know if I could be as beautiful as you, mon chéri."

Ryan's face grew warm at Dallon's praise, hand trailing down below Dallon's face to feel at his jaw and collarbones, both sharp and poking out of the skin.

Ryan continued to caress the demon, running his hand down his upper arm, stopping when he felt a series of bumps on the skin.

"Dal, honey... are these scars?" Ryan's heart broke when Dallon reluctantly nodded, legs tangled together. "Oh _Dallon_..."

Ryan moved so he was sitting a little more upright, beginning to plant kisses to the jagged gashes, the dull hurt in his chest only growing stronger as he discovered they trailed all the way down the demon's arm. "How did this happen, Dal?"

"Some of them are from other people, some of them are mine..." Dallon sounded ashamed, the worst thing Ryan wanted to hear at the moment.

"Baby, oh Dal- Dal, 'm so sorry, you're so beautiful, please don't hurt yourself," The words were spilling out of Ryan's mouth so fast his mind couldn't keep up, hugging the demon close. "Dallon, honey, this must be painful... how old are these scars?"

"Some are centuries, some are from a few months ago..." The demon mumbled, obviously shameful of them. Ryan hugged Dallon tighter, trying to press a kiss to his lips and instead meeting with his nose.

"Dallon, promise you won't hurt yourself anymore, for me? Please honey?" Ryan didn't know what would happen tomorrow morning when the sun came up and everything would seem like a dream. Would Dallon be there laying in bed next to him, or would he holed up in the tiny closet?

Dallon slowly nodded, leaning in for another kiss which Ryan gave gladly. He never realized how badly he had been wanting to kiss Dallon, even after that first nightmare, and especially after that last wet dream.

Ryan felt so attracted to the demon, not just sexually, but like Dallon and him were magnets being pulled together by the universe.

He internally scolded himself for being so sappy, distracted by Dallon nibbling at his lower lip, bodies pressed together under the sheets. Ryan ran his hand through Dallon's hair, astonishingly thick and feathery between Ryan's fingers, leaving his hand to cradle the back of Dallon's head as Ryan continuously kissed around Dallon's mouth by mistake.

"You're adorable sweetheart," Dallon cooed softly against Ryan's lips, shuddering as Ryan continued to stroke his arms, tenderly massaging every little line of scarred skin he could feel.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay Dal?" Ryan whispered, unable to shake the knowledge that Dallon cut himself, even if it was months ago. He wanted so badly for Dallon to show himself, so he could reassure him and tell him how beautiful he looked.

"You're tired, mon chéri. You should rest and let your face heal." Dallon planted a kiss to his forehead, coaxing Ryan to lay down in his chest again. The pain that Ryan had just forgotten about came flooding back, along with the memories of Ronnie's foul words, the way he wound up to punch him and they way the onlookers gasped.

"Don't think about them darling, just let yourself relax. I'll be right here all night if he comes to finish the job, alright my love?" Dallon's tone had that tease in it that he'd heard in the dreams, causing a lopsided grin to spread on Ryan's face, unable to smile on the injured side.

"Mm... okay Dal, goodnight 'n thank you for this..." Ryan's mind started to drown in the murky waters of sleep, eyelids growing extremely heavy as he cuddled up against Dallon, silky tendrils wrapped around his tired body. Part of him was still convinced it was only a dream, and when he woke up the bed would be empty and cold.

"Goodnight sweetheart, sweet dreams..." Was the last thing Ryan heard before he was completely submerged by the ocean of slumber, brain fading into nothing.

**\- DALLON -**

Dallon really wanted to give Ryan a dream that night.

He really, really wanted to.

But he couldn't.

_'Just because he liked your voice and said he thought you were beautiful doesn't mean you can show him yourself.'_ The terrible voice in his head hissed, the one that always reduced him to a whimpering coward. _'If he saw you, he'd hate something so ugly. You'd ruin everything. He hated the dreams, he'd hate you too.'_

Dallon had only fallen deeper into the ocean of love he had for Ryan, finally working up the courage to call him the names he had always wanted to. It was all the demon had thought about for the past few days, besides the normal self deprecation.

Ryan asked about his origin, his parents and how he came to be a demon, and Dallon told him without hesitation. He could talk to Ryan for hours, his strong, deep voice filling the cavern that was Dallon's brain, tying around him and dragging him further into the depths of love until the demon felt like he was drowning in infatuation.

When Ryan asked Dallon about his parents, even though he meant no harm, it unearthed a deep memory Dallon had been suppressing for centuries. Dallon hadn't always been a demon, something people feared, a creature of the night. Once upon a time he had been an angel, a guardian angel to be exact. A being of wonder and light, someone that brought warmth and happiness into his human's life.

Centuries ago, he had lived alongside God in the clouds, adorning a golden halo and plumed pair of white wings, the symbol of extraordinary beauty and brilliance. Dallon couldn't recall much of his days before he was assigned a human to watch over, only that they were filled with light and laughter, heart free and empty of any worries.

The one thing Dallon remembered best was how he loved his sky-blue eyes, as clear as a sunny summer day, nothing but peace laying behind them. He was the perfect image of virtue and goodness, but he'd thrown it all away for one tiny mistake, one tiny moment of sin.

It had all begun when some teenager's guardian angel had quit, something about how the kid was becoming too hard to manage. Dallon jumped at the chance to finally be someone's guardian, to protect an actual human. He had never been down to Earth before, and ached to see what humans looked like.

Dallon was granted the job, along with a long list of rules he only skimmed over, excitement overwhelming him. A guardian angel's job was to keep their human out of danger's way until their final day came, where the angel would guide the human to heaven, or leave them to fall into the depths of hell.

Since it was so long ago, Dallon could barely remember his assigned human, only that he quickly grew to love him and all his little quirks, even if the kid got himself in trouble quite often. The angel knew it was a sin to be feeling attracted towards someone earthly and un-divine, especially the human he guarded and protected, yet he couldn't help it. For years he had built up an image of humans as lousy creatures, only a holy few making it into heaven, the paradise every person coveted, but they were so much more than that.

Instead of reporting back to heaven while his human was sleeping, he'd spend all his free time watching him, getting away with it by saying he was 'taking extra precautions'. Until one day, Dallon's desire grew far too strong, and he did the one thing guardian angels were absolutely not allowed to do:

He made contact with his human.

It wasn't like he had come bursting out of heaven wings and all. He had disguised himself as a barn cat at the farm the kid was working at one summer, hiding high in the rafts of the barn until he gathered the courage to walk up to the teenager, to finally feel a real human, to finally feel the only being Dallon had ever felt love towards.

The boy had been crouched next to a feeding trough, carefully loading new bales of hay into the wooden box. Dallon approached him slowly, padded feet leaving paw prints in the dirt as he sneaked up behind the kid, rubbing his whiskers on the boy's leg.

His human began to giggle, a ripple of emotions flowing through Dallon as the sound reached his ears, the realization of what heinous sin he just made dawning over him.

He touched the human. He rubbed his feline face against the kid's calf, for what, just to hear him laugh?

It had been worth it. Dallon felt like he was seeing light behind his eyes as the boy's giggles only grew louder, tumbling backwards as he reached out to pet the cat, something Dallon wanted so badly, but then-

He was back in heaven, glorious sun blinding his beautiful eyes. A tiny whine came from deep inside his chest as he thought about how some random cat was getting pet by his human, and he was up here, getting-

"-Punished. You committed a sin against our heavenly father, and now you will pay the consequences. He will see you now."

Dallon trudged past the know-it-all secretary, wings feeling heavier and heavier with every step he took, wallowing in dread. He knew what happened to angels who disobeyed God- they were stripped of their beauty, turned into hideous servants of Satan, his legion of unholy followers that tortured sinners in hell for an eternity.

"Dallon, come sit." God's office was a contrast to the rest of heaven, a bare room with a few potted plants hiding in the corner, fluorescent lightbulbs flickering.

"You do know what you've done, don't you?" God boomed, powerful voice making Dallon shrink even smaller, looking down at his lap. "You've not only committed one of the Seven Deadly Sins, you've gone against the very first rule of being a guardian angel. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, sir." Dallon voice was small and wavering, halo dimming as thoughts of what his punishment would be floated through his mind.

God sighed, a deep rumbling noise that could blow the roofs off of houses, that could start a flood with the drop of a tear.

"You're quite young, aren't you?" God lowered his voice, like he didn't want anyone listening, even though his annoying secretary was probably eavesdropping. "Dallon, you remind me of myself as a youngling, before I created the universe. We both know this was no mistake though, am I correct?"

Dallon nodded silently, tears beginning to gather on his thick lashes.

"Since you are quite young, I will let you roam the world freely, just as you've proved you crave. I cannot see someone like yourself enjoying an existence down in Hell."

Dallon heart sped up as he quickly dried his tears, a smile forming on his lips. He wasn't going to Hell, and he could spend the rest of his life on Earth? That was hardly a punishment.

"There is, however, a catch." God continued, "Nobody will be able to stand the sight of you. You will be a corrupt being of evil, stripped of all your previous beauty, banished to the shadows for a dull, loveless life of misery. You will feast off of everything you cherished in humans, will be forced to watch life drain out of their eyes every time you feel like a snack, something people will fear for all of eternity."

Dallon's heart sank, confused and frightened as to what this meant. But before he could take in surroundings one last time, saying a goodbye to everything wonderful he'd ever known, he was in a damp alleyway, covered in rags, a sharp pain spreading through his eyes and back like someone was stabbing him. He couldn't hold back the shriek that bubbled up in his throat as the agony worsened, making him double over and clutch his stomach, screaming and wailing as another wave of torment jabbed at his body.

There was a mirror propped up against a wall, no doubt put there by God so Dallon could bask in his new appearance. As his spasms of torture finally slowed, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until the horrible anguish faded away.

Dallon recoiled from the mirror when he could finally open his eyes, horrified by the figure that stared back at him. His beautifully celestial wings had been cut off and replaced with six eel-like limbs, twitching as Dallon discovered how to control them, like dark snakes that slithered through the air.

The angelic pair of blue eyes Dallon had revered for his entire life had been... erased. His eyes were a white void, an inhumanly blank canvas that was missing it's painting, emotionless and appalling.

He was **hideous**. He was **ugly**. How would he ever find love, the one thing he yearned for, looking like this?

Dallon couldn't feel the coldness of the puddle he had stepped in, too deep in a thunderstorm of thoughts as he glared at his appearance, thick, black tears beginning to fall from his eyes, the opposite of the clear, sparkling ones he used to have.

Everything about him was horrid. God had made him beastly all because he made a stupid mistake.

He couldn't even find his assigned human and meet them again; from the looks of it, God had thrown him back in time, placed him in 16th century France.

Rain began to fall from the murky sky, making Dallon's hair stick to his face as he inspected the mirror for some sort of magical contraption, hoping that this was some sort of sick joke, and he was looking at a fake image. But as the awareness that it was real set in, Dallon backed away and fell against the wall, hugging his cold knees to his chest, head hanging heavy.

A jagged emotion Dallon had never experienced before began to gather inside him, blazing and thorny, all rational thought lost to it's flame. Someone was going to pay for this. Someone was going to suffer at his hands so that they could feel what he was feeling, so that they could feel what it was like to not deserve suffering and pain.

When Dallon told Ryan about how he'd been banished from the golden coven that was heaven, Ryan began to hurt inside, a quick change in the normally bright energy he radiated.

Ryan was much more empathetic than most of the humans Dallon had come across, an energy so easily influenced by other people's experiences. It seemed to constantly change: one minute he would be chipper and happy, a neon energy that always tasted the best to Dallon. The next minute, he would be gloomy and conflicted, a dim energy that Dallon hated to see.

Nonetheless, Dallon was starving, but he wouldn't let himself take Ryan's energy without his permission.

That's why the demon almost jumped when Ryan asked him if he needed to eat, his empty stomach filling with excitement.

"How uh... how does that work?" Ryan fidgeted nervously, mind flickering through preconceived notions about vampires drinking blood, or satanic rituals. Dallon had to stifle a giggle, heart melting at how adorable he found Ryan.

_'If it is alright with you, may I take some of your energy? It won't hurt and you won't die.'_ Dallon's stomach growled at the thought of finally eating, his first meal since that first nightmare he'd given Ryan.

"Oh, um, sure I guess," Ryan sat stiffly, body frozen. Dallon wanted to reach out and soothe him, to calm his tense nerves, but he knew that was a stupid thing to wish for. It wasn't like his rotten mind would ever let him do anything he wanted.

_'It's for your own safety. You can't trust anyone.'_ The voice inside his head tried to reassure him, but Dallon brushed it off his shoulder, dying for a feast.

Dallon closed his eyes, concentrating on taking Ryan's energy without him feeling anything. It wasn't far off from slipping into someone's mind to create dreams, but this time he was taking and not giving.

Dallon could taste it on his tongue, a sparkling taste, like how he imagined those horribly sugary pop drinks tasted with all their carbonated bubbles. Everybody's energy had a different taste, some more preferable than others, but the demon wasn't picky: food was food, and he wasn't one to turn down nourishment.

Sure, he'd tried human food before, hoping for a substitute to energy, but it tasted just as vile and disgusting as his own tears did.

Dallon had snuck into a banquet after all the men and women had gone home, arms linked, frilly dresses swishing against the men's tailcoats. It didn't take much to get past the servants cleaning up; they had taken one look at his extra limbs and fell to the ground, clutching the cross hanging from their necklaces, murmuring something about drinking too much leftover wine.

Carefully, he stepped over the limp bodies, striding over to the tables piled high with every food imaginable, dress shoes clicking against the shiny marble floor. It was common practice for ballroom floors to be polished to perfection before a banquet, so it had become common practice for Dallon to slip on them, praying that no one had heard the thud that rang through the hollow room when his back hit the ground, bones reverberating with soreness.

While most of the food was half eaten, it still made Dallon's mouth water, imagining it tasting as good as energy did. There were gourmet cakes iced with truffles of buttercream frosting, juicy roast beef sliced to reveal it's light pink interior, golden baked potatoes with crisp outsides and fluffy insides. Glass bottles of champagne and Burgundy were reflecting the candles placed at every table, burning out slowly, wax dripping onto the white table cloth.

It was a quite the smorgasbord, but Dallon wasn't a savage, so he grabbed one of the fancy plates piled next to the food and cut himself a piece of cake, thick frosting sticking to the knife.

He daintily cut off a small chunk with the tiny fork he'd grabbed off of someone's table, holding it in front of him as he contemplated actually eating it.

It looked good, it smelled good, it must taste good.

Dallon brought it to his lips, looking down at it warily like it contained holy water, a demon's one true poison. It was just a cake. It was fine.

Before he could become any more unnecessarily nervous, he shoved the cake into his mouth, then immediately spit it out onto the plate.

It was absolutely inedible- cake wasn't supposed to taste acidic and briny, was it?

It was like his body rejected the food, taste buds unable to rid themselves of the horrid taste. It was too salty, while still being bitter and sharp, rancid and stinging.

Maybe there was just something wrong with the cake- you couldn't mess up potatoes, could you?

It turned out you could. The potatoes were somehow worse than the baked pastry, like fermented mush, making Dallon gag and place his plate down, aftertaste lingering in his mouth. It burned in the back of his throat, like he had eaten a lit match, covered in rat poison.

He needed something to rid his tongue of this repulsive horror- he needed someone's energy.

Luckily, one of the maids was starting to come to, rubbing her forehead in confusion. Sleeping people didn't give off any energy, and fear held the type of strength he needed to taste.

"I'm so sorry miss, would you happen to know where the door is? I'm terribly lost, if you hadn't noticed by now." Dallon helped the woman stand up, words soft and apologetic as she continued to rub her head, obvious pain where she had hit it fainting.

"Of course sir, I'd be happy to help once I..." She trailed off when she finally looked up to Dallon, eyes widening in fright, mouth open in disbelief as she failed to say anything but a small gasp.

God, Dallon loved that sight.

"Is there something wrong?" Dallon smiled devilishly, drinking up the poor maid's fear as her grip tightened on his hand, unable to move, body frozen in terror. Short, black curls framed her face, all colour draining from it as she gawked at him, her cherry-red lower lip trembling.

"You- you-" Her mouth was moving but words weren't coming out, the light behind her eyes dimming as Dallon took more and more, a light, mint taste replacing the horrendous one in his mouth.

Finally her body slumped, still grasping onto Dallon's arm for dear life, eyes fluttering shut. Dallon knew from experience that she wouldn't wake up until tomorrow morning, and he'd be far gone by then, maybe even in another country. The demon had picked England bare of all it's interesting attractions, and he was starting to get sick of his surroundings. Maybe he'd visit it again in a couple decades.

He gently placed the fatigued maid on the marble floor and tiptoed his way out, satisfied and full-bellied, even though a smidgen of him was disappointed human food hadn't worked out as well as he anticipated.

Reality came back to the demon's brain as he felt a power-high creep up on him, stopping abruptly so he didn't make Ryan faint, just as he had that maid.

_'Thank you.'_

"You were right, that didn't hurt." Ryan took a few long blinks and shook his head, smiling brightly. Dallon loved the way he smiled, the way time seemed to slow when he laughed like it was stopping for something special, and to Dallon, Ryan's laugh was the most special thing in the world.

They talked until Ryan said a goodnight and padded off into bed, leaving Dallon alone in the closet until morning. He didn't require as much sleep as humans did, but he still needed it, so he settled down propped up against the wall of the closet and let his head loll back, tired mind slowing.

As Dallon tried to fall asleep, he thought about how odd of a human Ryan was. The man had liked his tendrils, had liked his voice, had even said he would like to see him. Over the course of history, no one had ever said that about Dallon.

No one had ever let him live in their apartment, had let him take their energy freely. No one had ever liked the dreams Dallon gave them, and no one had ever made Dallon feel so happy.

He wasn't going to leave Ryan, the only person who had ever liked him.

Dallon played the music box again, staring with hazy eyes at the cursive letters, pretending that Ryan had known what it said and bought it for him. It felt like all he ever did was pretend nowadays, pretend that Ryan actually liked him, pretend that one day he'd get to show himself to his love, pretend that they would all live happily ever after.

Maybe if he pretended hard enough, it could become a reality.

Dallon woke up slowly, not remembering ever having fallen asleep. His joints ached from being so crumpled in such an enclosed space, long legs twisted in an unnatural position, knocking into the thin walls as he sat up quickly.

Through the slates of the closet he saw Ryan walk into the kitchen, glancing at him quickly before shuffling over to the fridge, blue hair disheveled.

"Good morning," Ryan yawned through his words, making Dallon's stomach quiver. "Did you... sleep well?"

Dallon scribbled out a greeting, delighted at the way his pet name made Ryan's face bloom red.

_'Good morning darling. I slept well, how did you sleep?'_

"Uh, I slept okay. No dreams though..." Ryan's voice had a twinge of disappointment, something that confused Dallon. Ryan had been hoping for a dream? But he had said he didn't like them- and Dallon didn't want to overstep boundaries any more than he already had.

_'I didn't know you wanted them. I don't think you'd like to see me.'_

"Dallon," Ryan exhaled loudly, like Dallon was a bother. He felt like a bother, a pest that was hiding away in Ryan's closet.

"I... I really did like them, and I really liked you, and I really want to see you."

Oh, that was... different.

Sure, Ryan had said he was sure that Dallon was beautiful yesterday, but the demon knew he was wrong, a naive little human who had never seen a demon before. Ryan was probably picturing him as someone handsome, someone _normal_.

Dallon's hand twitched at Ryan's words, wanting so very badly to open the door and show himself to Ryan, but he was trapped in place by centuries of hatred and abomination. His body was caged by his brain, a constant battle between desires and reality, chained to century-old worries and guilt.

"Uh... I have a concert tonight downtown, if you want to come out and stretch your legs..." Ryan mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. It was like Ryan could read his mind.

He wished Ryan could read his mind.

_'With your band?'_

"Yeah, but I'll be fine, I'm used to dealing with them." Ryan held the ceramic bowl up to his mouth and sipped the leftover milk from his cereal, wiping away the mustache it left, the dim sunlight that filled the room making Ryan look angelic.

Ryan would have made a perfect angel, in Dallon's opinion. A much better guardian than Dallon had been.

_'Good luck, sweetheart.'_ Dallon wrote, heart skipping a beat as he scratched out the last word.

He couldn't explain how amazing that word made him feel, like his mind was a field of delicate flowers swaying in a warm breeze, sun beating down on his head, a thick feeling of serenity cast over him.

All he ever wanted to do was pamper and take care of Ryan, to see his amazing smile, to hear the sweet melody of his laugh.

And yet here he was, stuck inside a closet, separated from his love.  
  


Ryan left a few hours later, soul carrying an unbelievable worry. Dallon had clenched his fists when Ryan had first talked about the band, how they had hurt him and made him cry. The demon had seen the images that crossed Ryan's mind, ones of foul mouthed teenagers speaking down to Ryan, calling him rude names and demanding that he do everything for them.

Dallon wanted to hurt the lead singer. He wanted to rip out his vocal chords, to silence his terribly scratchy voice, to watch him drown in his own pool of blood.

No one was going to hurt his love and get away with it.

Once he heard Ryan's car pull out of the parking lot, Dallon pushed open the closet door, taking a deep breath in. It felt so good to finally breathe air that wasn't stale and musty, to stand in Ryan's kitchen, moon peeking out from the horizon.

Dallon had always considered the moon his only friend, the one thing he could always count on being there as he hid in the dark, something so bewitching and mystical. Everything was so much more eerie and ghostly in the enchanting moonlight, casting shadows in the crevices of streets, Dallon's one home.

Ryan had looked absolutely dreamy in the moonlight, pale skin glowing, little tears shimmering. Dallon had been fighting the urge to lick every inch of his skin clean, to lap at the tears that dripped down his cheeks, to taste his love.

It was thoughts like that that were going to get him into trouble.

Dallon was growing more and more obsessed with his love with every moment that passed, craving the smell of his shampoo, his short little giggles, the rough texture of his strong hands.

One temptation led to another, and before he knew it, demon's body was moving against own will, and then he was in Ryan's bedroom. His long hands scrabbled at Ryan's closet door, grabbing at one of his teeshirts, fists full of the soft cloth.

Dallon held it to his nose and inhaled deeply, overwhelmed with the scent of Ryan's laundry detergent, the faint smell of his body lingering in the threads.

God. Dallon was pathetic- He had sunk so low he was standing in the middle of Ryan's room, nose buried in one of his shirts, unable to put it down.

He laid down on the bed and imagined Ryan laying next to him, peacefully breathing into his neck, mind clear of any barbaric bandmates.

"I love you Dallon..." Ryan would mumble into his chest, weak little human heart pattering against Dallon's.

"I love you too, mon belle fleur." Dallon would respond, warm hearts beating together even though the demon's strong one overpowered Ryan's.

Surrounded by piles of pillows, Dallon must have dozed off, Ryan's scent clouding his brain, stuck in a lovesick trance. He sat up quickly at the sound of Ryan's car pulling in, trademark old engine sputtering.

His knees wobbled underneath him as he scampered into the closet, like a newborn fawn that was learning how to walk. His mind had been knocked out of its lush, everything thought passing through it about Ryan, repeating over and over. It was like when Dallon had accidentally scratched one of his favourite vinyl records and it would play the same three notes, except this time it was his brain that was broken.

The door flew open, a bruised Ryan tripping through, sending alarms off in Dallon's head.

His love was hurt. _Someone hurt his love._

Ryan threw open the freezer door and pulled out a bag of frozen vegetables, pressing it to his wounded cheek, pretty, clear tears slipping down his face.

Blind, white rage overcame Dallon, a flame of red-hot anger igniting deep inside him. It had been ages since he had been so furious, a vile crave for violence searing through his chest, hands clenching in fury. He was going to kill whoever had laid a hand on his precious Ryan, was going to make them regret ever plucking a petal from his perfect little rose. He was going to bash their head in, to peel off their fingernails, to choke them to sleep until the last thing they ever saw was their own hand waving goodnight to them-

But Ryan now was stripping naked in the kitchen, and Dallon's train of violent thoughts derailed, eyes glued to the curve of his ass, covered by his grey boxers. His face was painted with sparkling tears, but it wasn't the type of tears Dallon loved to see. They were tears of pain, tears Dallon had seen his own face soaked in too many times.

Dallon was going to fix that.

He peeled off his own clothes, dropping them on the closet floor to return to later, and quietly followed Ryan into his bedroom.

The room was dark enough that his love wouldn't see him, a reassuring thought to the hesitant demon. It didn't matter- he was going to comfort Ryan, no matter what his horrible mind told him.

Dallon slid into bed next to Ryan, sheets still ruffled from where he had laid earlier. His love's frail human heart was fluttering like a hummingbird's wings, body radiating warmth and a weaker version of Dallon's anger.

"What's troubling you, sweetheart?" Dallon cooed, insides melting when Ryan snuggled up into the crook of his neck.

"Mm... It's nothing..." Ryan winced as he talked, a shudder running through his body.

"Baby, you can tell me anything... what happened to your face, doll?" Dallon reached around him to stroke Ryan's back, running his hand over the small bumps of his spine.

"I just... Some asshole punched me..."

Wrath began to blister inside Dallon again, vision clouded by streaks of red as Ryan rubbed his face in Dallon's neck, a little whimper falling past his lips.

"How did that happen darling?" Dallon needed to know who he was going to hurt.

"Ronnie, he- he stole a van... and when I tried to call the police he sucker punched me..."

Dallon was going to make him pay for harming his baby. "Oh _honey_ , that's terrible,"

"I'm fine, it's just the principle of the thing... he just- he gets away with everything and it pisses me off so much..." Ryan pressed his body against Dallon's, legs locking around the demon's long ones, rendering Dallon breathless. "I just wanted to stop him, but once again, I'm the loser in the fight."

"Do you want to forget about it, sweetheart?" Dallon wanted nothing more than to clear Ryan's mind, a tingle of euphoria rushing through Dallon's veins when his love nodded and leaned in.

And then, it happened. Ryan's soft lips were pressing against his, an adorably whiny little gasp falling into Dallon's mouth, tiny hummingbird heart speeding up as Dallon licked at his love's lips.

Ryan parted his lips and let Dallon taste more of him, liquid gold dripping down the back of the demon's throat, heat laying deep in his stomach. Ryan's breathing had grown more laboured, hand reaching up to fondle Dallon's jaw, a whole bundle of new sensations unraveling inside him.

He was kissing his love, and his love was kissing him back.

"Sweetheart... mon chéri, my darling," Dallon couldn't stop the pet names from escaping him, head swimming with light.

"Dal, honey... is- is this a dream?" Ryan said breathlessly, dark, full eyes staring back into Dallon's, no doubt trying to see the demon.

"Would you like it to be?" Dallon could disappear in an instant, pretending this entire interaction had been a dream if Ryan didn't like it.

"...No. I want this to be real life, and I want to kiss you again." Ryan nearly demanded, making Dallon's heart stutter.

His precious rose wanted to kiss him.

A growl came from deep inside of his chest as he devoured Ryan, running his teeth over his love's delicate lower lip, a rush of possessiveness washing over the demon.

No one would ever lay a hand on his Ryan again. This was all his.

"Mm... do you feel better babydoll?" Dallon felt like he was floating, pulling Ryan's body closer to him until their chests were flush.

Ryan fit perfectly in his arms, just as Dallon had guessed. He never wanted to let go of his love, like together they were a whole, and without Ryan Dallon would be a hopeless half of a person.

"Mhm... I'd feel better if I could see who I was kissing though..."

Sorrow hollowed out Dallon's chest, horrible vines of ache wrapping around his heart. "'m sorry baby... I just don't want to disappoint you..."

"I bet you're real pretty Dal," Ryan cuddled against Dallon, whispering into his chest. "You've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, and such a pretty voice too... I'm sure you've got a pretty face to match, hm?"

Dallon's heart melted, words sinking into the barren crevice of his mind. Ryan liked his eyes and his voice. Dallon loved Ryan.

"I don't know if that's true darling," Dallon entwined his bony hand with Ryan's calloused one, overjoyed when they fit perfectly together, Ryan's poor blisters rubbing against his own hand. "I don't know if I could be as beautiful as you, mon chéri."

Ryan's rough hand was petting his collar, the coarse pads of his fingers stroking his Adam's apple, working his way down his shoulders until they stopped suddenly.

"Dal, honey... are these scars?" Ryan croaked, muscles tensing up. "Oh _Dallon_..."

Oh no. Ryan had found his scars.

Why didn't he ever think of this happening? Of course Ryan would find his ugly marks eventually- it was stupid for Dallon to pretend they never existed.

Ryan began to press his lips to ever white cut, kisses light and gentle, full of tenderness. "How did this happen, Dal?"

"Some of them are from other people, some of them are mine..." Dallon was trying to stuff the memories down, but they resurfaced nonetheless, terrible sights flashing in front of him as he was brought back to where he had begun on Earth.

He was in the wet alleyway with the mirror, staggering around dazed and confused, more tears slipping down his face. What would he do? It was his first time on Earth by himself, bare and exposed to the world, a monster.

Dallon stumbled out into the street, hands shielding his blank eyes, praying that no one was looking at him. He knew what happened when humans saw angels- he didn't want to even think about what happened when humans saw demons.

That's what he was now. A fallen angel, one who had committed a sin- why stop at one, why not commit a few hundred more?

"Seigneur sauve-nous, c'est une bête!" There was a scream from behind Dallon, words muffled by the violent rain slapping against the stones that made up the road. Dallon spun around terrified, naked feet slipping into a puddle, the soaked rags that he was dressed in whipping in the wind. He could only imagine how he looked- like a nightmare come to life, black streaks of tears running down his cheeks, tendrils twitching unnaturally.

Then there was a loud rumble of thunder, something sharp and painful connecting with his skull, a crack echoing through his head.

Dallon's vision went black, brain swirling with panic and distress when he finally regained consciousness. He was laying on the street, rain beating down on him, a line of open wounds on both his arms oozing a thick, dark liquid.

Someone had knocked him out cold, cut jagged gashes into his arms and left him bleeding in the middle of a thunderstorm.

All love Dallon had for humans had bled out of his wounds along with the last bit of hopefulness he was holding onto. That was moment Dallon decided to stop trying to be good- it didn't matter anymore. Good people were killed, good angels were punished, the world was an unfair place.

Then there was the time Dallon cut himself a few centuries later. Alone in a dark library, hands shaking as he held the knife to his pale arms, hate dripping down his face in the form of his inky tears.

_'All you ever do is cry. Cry your ugly, ugly, ugly tears. A dirty monster deserves to be hurt. You're an ugly disgrace to the world.'_

The demon pressed the blade to his milky skin, a feeble whimper emerging from his chest as his sight blurred, more tears stinging at his eyes. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to hold back the sob that clawed at his throat as he left a trail of incisions down his arm, his gooey blood leaking out of the slits.

_'Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Hideous. No one loves you.'_

Ryan blew Dallon out of his spell with his loving words. "Baby, oh Dal- Dal, 'm so sorry, you're so beautiful, please don't hurt yourself," Ryan gushed, clinging to Dallon so tightly he was leaving little claw marks on Dallon's back around where his tendrils sprouted out from his skin. "Dallon, honey, this must be painful... how old are these scars?"

"Some are centuries, some are from a few months ago..." Dallon didn't want to talk about it in front of Ryan, a terrible sadness cloaking the love that the two of them had been sharing.

"Dallon, promise you won't hurt yourself anymore, for me? Please honey?"

Honey. Ryan was calling him honey, and it felt _so good._

His love was kissing him again, his little moans sending waves of pleasure down Dallon's spine, drinking up the taste of Ryan. Dallon was wrestling his lust to duck down and nip at his love's neck, to mark him up and own him, leaving a trail of purple hickeys.

Ryan kept trying to press his lips to Dallon's, but instead was meeting with the space around his mouth, smiling until he finally found the demon's mouth.

"You're adorable sweetheart," Dallon's nerves were flittering with ecstasy as Ryan's rough fingers rubbed his ugly scars.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay Dal?" Ryan's voice was so soft and kind, and he smelled so good, and his hand was so gentle running through Dallon's hair. The demon felt like he was purring, a warm fuzz resounding through his chest.

"You're tired, mon chéri. You should rest and let your face heal." Dallon wanted his baby to be back to full health so that they could make love properly without foul thoughts lingering in Ryan's mind.

"Don't think about them darling, just let yourself relax. I'll be right here all night if he comes to finish the job, alright my love?" Dallon tried to keep the fury out of his voice for the sake of Ryan's comfort. But in reality, if that idiotic singer came back to harm his precious Ryan, they wouldn't live to see another day.

"Mm... okay Dal, goodnight 'n thank you for this..." Ryan's eyelids started to droop, snuggling up to the tendrils swaddling him, hand intertwined with the demon's once again.

"Goodnight sweetheart, sweet dreams..." Dallon said as Ryan's breathing slowed, mind falling into darkness.

But Dallon wasn't going to sleep that night. He was going to give Ryan the best dream he'd ever had.

He was going to give Ryan the revenge he needed.

**\- END OF ACT 4 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No dictionary words this chapter!
> 
> But oh boy... that is probably the longest chapter I've ever written in my life!
> 
> Man, I was hungry before I wrote that banquet scene, but after I wrote it I completely lost my appetite. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!! Let me know what you thought in the comments, I love every single one I get <333
> 
> Expect the next chapter in a few days I hope? Thanks for reading! :)


	5. ACT FIVE - La vengeance est une jolie couleur sur toi, mon chéri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 17 in D Minor, and yes, you guessed it: it belongs in the dream scene :)
> 
> !!TW: This chapter includes graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore, homophobic language, graphic descriptions of torture and two scenes that have very horny vibes. Please only read if you're comfortable!! <3

**\- RYAN -**

Oh... _oh no_.

This had to be a nightmare fabricated by Dallon, Ryan was sure of it.

He was standing uneasy in total darkness, a quiet classical melody running through his mind, the same setup as his first nightmare. Ryan brought his hand to his cheek, surprised when no pain followed, conforming his suspicions that he was having a night terror.

No, no, Dallon wouldn't do that to him. It had been the demon who he just kissed and fondled, hadn't it been? Ryan thought they were finally... bonding.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Dream Ryan sensed Dallon walk up behind him, a soft tendril coiling around his wrist, warm breath on the back of his neck.

"Baby, my love, mon chéri, it's okay. I'm not here to hurt you, my beautiful rose." Dallon whispered into his ear, making every hair on Ryan's body stand up. His voice was dark and sexy but... it shouldn't be.

"Dal, what's going on here?" Ryan whispered back, arching his spine as Dallon began to lay kisses on his neck, some of them more tongue than lips, body pressed up against Ryan's. "Oh, Dallon... is this one of those dreams?"

"Mmm, sweetheart, I wish it was." Dallon's tendril wove in between his fingers, Ryan's new favourite gesture. "That would be nice, wouldn't it darling?"

Ryan nodded, glancing around confused. "So... what's happening here then?"

Dallon took a few more moments to make out with the back of Ryan's neck, exhaling loudly when he finally finished, like a cool gust of wind on an autumn day. "Do you remember the man who punched you, my dear?"

Ryan stomached dropped at the mention of Ronnie, eyes straining even harder to make out his little rat face. Ryan had some words he wanted to say to that idiot.

"No one gets away with hurting you, mon belle fleur." Dallon's tendrils tightened slightly, stealing Ryan's breath. "So, I decided to give you a little gift..."

The classical piece playing in the background was eerie, piano notes rising like they were building up to something severe, much like the music in horror movies before the protagonist was killed, sending harrowing chills down Ryan's spine as more tendrils twined with the divots of his body.

Ryan stifled a moan, melting in the tendrils as he leaned into Dallon's embrace. "Mm- ohh, a... gift?"

That couldn't mean anything good. Demons weren't known for their fantastic gift giving skills, and they had just been talking about Ronnie.

"Yes, my love..." Dallon hissed in his ear, sending shivers down Ryan's spine.

A dull lightbulb flickered in front of Ryan, finally revealing light to his surroundings, but his relief was short lived.

_"Mmf?!"_

Ronnie was tied and bound to a chair, eyes wide enough to reveal the whites around his irises, struggling against the rope. His face screamed help while his mouth screamed nonsense, the legs of the chair scraping the concrete floor as he thrashed around. Red, raw marks were imprinted into his cheeks and wrists, a history of torture coming to life in front of Ryan.

It was a horrifying sight, especially when tears started to shine in Ronnie's widened eyes, the first time Ryan had ever seen the kid express an emotion other than smugness. Even his tattoos were less intimidating, shrinking away like they were too hiding from their captors.

Ronnie didn't look like the asshole teenager he usually was- he looked like a fearful child, destitute whines falling past his gag, glassy eyes pleading Ryan to save him.

"He's all yours to hurt, my sweet little rose." Dallon purred, voice as smooth as the silky tendril climbing up his arm.

Ryan felt as terrified as Ronnie looked, body frozen in place as all he could do was stare at the frightened teenager.

Something in the kid's face reminded Ryan of those animals at the zoo, petrified of the onlookers, trapped and unable to run. Shallow, frenzied breaths cut through the thick silence, but Ryan was unsure if they were coming from Ronnie or himself.

Dallon's lanky fingers brushed against Ryan as he slid something cold and metal into his hand, reflecting the dim white from the hanging lightbulb into Ryan's eyes.

A knife. There was a knife in his hand, and there was an 18-year-old bound by rope in a creepy basement.

It's just a dream. It's just a dream.

"Tell me baby, what are you going to do to him?" Dallon's tongue flicked at Ryan's ear, another tendril resting on his hip. The demon was growing more and more serpent-like with every passing second, between the sensual hiss in his tone and the little licks at his neck.

Dallon was enjoying this way too much.

"Hm, doll? Maybe you'll carve his eyes out, or cut a nice path through his heart... or maybe you could strangle him with those beautiful hands of yours, get yourself all dirty with his blood," Dallon's dark whispering seemed endless, tendrils growing handsy. "Mmm, darling, maybe after you could lick the blood off your fingers, show me what that tongue can do and maybe we could have one of those dreams, hm?"

Dallon was _definitely_ getting turned on by this.

"Oh sweetheart, you're just in shock, aren't you? Do you remember how he hit you, and how mad you were? Don't you want to see him suffocate?" The demon's voice was dripping with venom, it's poison snaking around Ryan's innocent mind and drugging him, just like the tendrils curling around his limbs.

A quick bout of anger overcame Ryan, thousands of horrible memories crossing his mind, hand gripping the knife tightly as he felt Dallon's lips draw into a grin against his neck.

"Yes, that's it darling. Use that anger, make him pay for ever laying a finger on you, for treating you so badly all these years."

Ryan's fury only grew as his mind flashed back to all the times he had been called 'sperm bank' or 'faggot' or 'semen', to all the times Ronnie had insulted his drumming, insulted his appearance and even insulted his family. To every time he had acted like one of them, a stupid teenager who did whatever the ringleader said, who followed Ronnie blindly into every bad decision. To the times he had sulked into a bar or a drugstore to buy them drinks and smokes, covered in a net of fear all because Ronnie said he'd make his life miserable if he didn't obey.

There was a pot of violence boiling over inside Ryan, water spilling over the edge as he took one step, two steps, three steps towards the writhing singer, sharp knife in hand, head swirling with Dallon's sadistic voice urging him on.

"Good boy, hurt him, rip his teeth out. Put the knife to his face and watch the way fear blazes behind his eyes, peel off his skin, taint your perfect soul with some murder."

Ryan raised the knife in the air, sizzling pot only fueled by the terror in Ronnie's eyes, the surprised yelp that was muffled by the rag in his mouth. The pain and suffering from years of being treated like shit came crashing down on Ryan all at once, something snapping inside of him, knife whizzing towards Ronnie's stupid face tattoos, then-

_No._

He couldn't.

He wasn't going to harm Ronnie, he was just a kid.

Ryan stood with his hair in his eyes, face inches away from Ronnie's, breathing just as hysterically as the singer was.

Casting a reflection on Ronnie's face, the tip of the knife was just digging into his skin, only a tiny drop of blood drawn.

Ryan pulled away from the kid, horrified by his own actions. He had been so ready to kill another human being, one with friends and a family and people who would miss him.

All for what, a moment of revenge?

Trembling, Ryan let the knife fall out of his hand onto the floor, deaf to its clatter. He couldn't believe he had almost murdered Ronnie.

"I-I can't." Ryan's voice was incredibly small, talking almost an impossible feat thanks to the lump in his throat. "I can't do it."

"Oh baby, what do you mean you can't do it?" Dallon was pressed up behind him again, hot breath on Ryan's neck, hands on his hips. "It's so easy to kill him sweetheart, it really is. Do you want some help?"

"Ye- no, no!" Ryan cried, staring down at the teary-eyed teenager in disbelief. "He's just a fucking kid- I can't kill him!"

Dallon tsked against Ryan's neck. "I think you can, my love. I think you just need me to show you how."

Ryan shook his head, biting at his bottom lip as Ronnie shook his too. Even if he was just in a dream, he couldn't fathom the idea of ending another person's life, even if the person was a dick.

Ronnie started to sob, heartbreaking whimpers filling the still air, making Ryan's gut writhe even more. He wanted so badly to undo the ropes and let Ronnie free, but he was glued in place, standing just out of arms reach of the weeping boy.

"Just watch darling, you'll feel much better, I promise." Dallon licked his lips, a tendril slithering around the discarded weapon, holding it in front of Ryan, giving him one last chance to change his mind and end Ronnie's life.

When Ryan remained still, Dallon moved the knife towards Ronnie, one of his lanky hands giving Ryan's ass a squeeze like he was comforting him.

Ryan wasn't comforted- he was petrified.

Standing right in front of Ronnie, Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears with his hands as a tormented scream filled the small room, sickening squelching noises filtering in through them. He could feel the splatter of blood on his shirt as Dallon repeatedly stabbed the singer, could feel the demon's sinister giggles and smirks against his neck, stomach convulsing when Ryan accidentally opened his eyes to the sight of Ronnie's dead eyes gazing back at him, lifeless and glazed over.

Ronnie's head rolled back against the chair, body limp and soaked with blood, dark clothes ripped where Dallon impaled him with the silver knife. Ryan was rooted to the ground, gasping for air, tendrils caressing his drenched chest.

"Awh, you look so pretty painted in blood, my beautiful little rose." Dallon turned around Ryan, hot tongue lapping at the blood on his lips, unaware of Ryan's stiff body frozen in shock. "Aren't you glad we finally got rid of that nuisance? Now we can be together forever sweetheart, without any bother."

Then there was a screaming noise filling Ryan's head in the dream, until Ryan realized he was screaming in real life, pillow soaked with tears.

Ryan was alive. Ronnie was alive. It was just a dream- no, it was a nightmare.

Dallon had wanted him to murder Ronnie. Dallon had murdered Ronnie- a fake, dream version of Ronnie, bound and gagged in some dark cellar, nothing more than a scared little kid. He couldn't shake the image of him, body flopped in the rickety chair, uninhabited eyes staring at Ryan.

"Why didn't you save me? Why did you let this happen?" Ronnie's unsteady voice warbled, dead eyes pleading Ryan to help him, to stop the demon.

Rage sparked inside Ryan again, but this time, it wasn't aimed towards Ronnie.

His eyes scanned the dark room for the demon, frustrated when he didn't spot Dallon's white eyes, or him laying next to him like he had promised.

Actually, maybe that was a good thing. Ryan didn't want to face him without being behind a door, Dallon's dominant words stuck in his mind.

_'Now we can be together forever sweetheart, without any bother.'_

It was foolish for Ryan to ever think he could fall in love with a demon. He should've seen the issues coming from a mile away, but instead, he had been blind, and now they were colliding with him at thousands of miles an hour.

Obsession, murder, possessive names, nightmares, revenge.

Wait, scratch possessive names off the list of issues. Ryan was less than happy to say that he liked them, but it was the truth.

Ryan shuffled through the darkness of his apartment warily, hands held out in front of him like he was going through a maze of mirrors, ready to bump into the freakishly tall demon with every step he took. His cheek throbbed with ache as he blindly walked through his apartment, knocking into chairs and tables.

He usually wasn't afraid of the dark. But right now? He wanted nothing less than to meet with Dallon in the shadows, heart pumping louder in his ears with every step he took.

Thankfully, he reached the kitchen lightswitch without running into Dallon, spotting his snow-white eyes peeking out from the darkness of the closet.

"Hey, what the fuck was that?!" Ryan yelled, crouched down in front of the door. A pang of agony struck his heart when the demon cowered from Ryan's voice, eyes widening.

There was a saying Ryan had heard all his life: The eyes are the window of the soul. The problem with Dallon was that his eyes were blank- perhaps that meant he was soulless, missing the one thing that every human conveyed emotion through.

But this- this was different. Dallon's eyes seeped with fright and horror, painting pictures of years of solitude and torture, savage humans screaming and shouting at a timid demon.

It knocked all the air out of Ryan's lungs, sitting there speechless and stunned.

No, _no_. This is what Dallon wanted; to make Ryan feel guilty by using his puppy-dog eyes, except the puppy had just sucked at his neck and brutally murdered Ronnie.

"Dallon, I can't- you can't murder someone! Especially not Ronnie, he's a fucking teenager!" The pain in his cheek only grew worse as he shrieked.

The notebook was shoved out from under the door so forcefully it flew across the kitchen floor, yellow papers fluttering.

Ryan crawled over to the pad of paper, face reddening as he realized he was basically naked, on all fours, ass pointed towards the closet.

_'He hurt you, my love. I only wanted to give you the vengeance you deserve. No one should get away with wilting your beautiful petals, my sweet little rose.'_

Ryan twisted around, anger dulled by Dallon's pretty names, face still burning with embarrassment.

"N-no. That nightmare was horrifying Dallon- I'm not your little rose. This whole demon-in-my-closet thing? It's- it's over."

The eyes disappeared from view completely, only making Ryan feel worse, insides crumbling into sheepish dust.

Ryan was scared of that Dallon might do to him what he did to Ronnie. He couldn't live alongside a demon anymore- who knew what Dallon would do if one day he got mad at him? Strangle him, rip apart his chest, dismember him?

He wasn't the bad guy here, was he? He had to be doing the right thing, but... normally, doing the right thing didn't put a massive pressure on his chest, making him feel unbelievably guilty.

Ryan kicked the notebook back under the door, flinching when he heard it thud against the furthest closet wall.

Sighing deeply, Ryan went back into his bedroom and sat down on his bed, eyes adjusting to the haunting glow of the room in the sudden moonlight. It brought him back to the second dream Dallon had given him, how safe he felt under the demon's spell. He wished he felt like that right now instead of on edge, eyes darting back to the bedroom door, expecting Dallon to come in and kill him any second.

He wasn't going to call pest control, he wasn't going to call the exterminator and he definitely wasn't going to call his landlord. He didn't know what he was going to do.

One person was stuck in the back of his mind; the one person he could call who knew everything about this horny demon.

His hand shook as he dialed the number hastily, before he could chicken out, just like he did with everything.

"Hello?" The woman's voice on the other end of the line was tiny, cracking like she had just woken up. It was 3 in the morning after all...

Oh no, it was the witching hour. Whatever, Dallon was probably going to murder him anyways after what he was about to do.

"Hi, is Breezy Weekes there? I have a demon problem."  
  
  
  
  


The author of the book- Breezy Weekes,- arrived quickly after Ryan explained his situation, leaving out all the erotic and romantic bits. He didn't think that they were very important to the story.

They were the most important bits of the story, weren't they.

The sun was starting to tint the sky orange when Ryan swung open the apartment door, now fully dressed, cheek beginning to turn purple.

"Hi, Ryan Seaman?" The women's voice sounded nasally, like her she was sick, carrying a backpack so stuffed it's zipper looked like it was crying for help. It was a contrast to the bright smile the woman was wearing, mauve coloured lips parting to reveal two rows of perfect teeth.

"Yeah, that's me," Ryan opened the door wider, catching a whiff of the woman's thick perfume, blond curls bouncing as she stepped into the small apartment with a certain confidence. "Uh, sorry for calling so early... can I make you some coffee?"

Breezy stood in the middle of the room taking on her surroundings, one red high-heeled foot in the living room, the other in the kitchen. "Coffee would be fantastic. And don't worry about it, I understand it was an urgent matter."

Ryan nodded reluctantly, stumbling over his own feet towards the secondhand coffee maker his mom had gifted him last Christmas, closet still completely dark. His cheek stung dully, catching a quick reflection of himself in the microwave glass as he passed it.

His face had blemished a gross plum colour, the eye above his cheek a bit swollen, but nothing too extreme. Ryan didn't know where Ronnie had learned to punch like that, the power of his entire body thrown into one swing, full of anger and bitterness.

While waiting for the demon expert to arrive, Ryan had been doing every action on the nervous checklist:

Wringing hands? Check.

Chewing on his lip? Check.

Pacing back and forth in his kitchen? Check.

He was terrified of what Breezy was going to do to Dallon, and how the demon would react. After all, he had just murdered Ronnie in his dream, and he had enjoyed it.

Breezy had taken a seat at his kitchen table, backpack placed in front of her, seams bursting to reveal what looked like... jars, full of multicoloured liquids.

"So, would you mind repeating what you said on the phone? My reception is real bad downtown." She said, hands clasped together, purple nails shining in the sunrise.

"Um, sure. Well, I read your book after I got a nightmare from Da- the demon, and since then he's just been living in that closet-" Ryan pointed to the door with the coffee pot, pouring it into his best mug. "-staring at me with those empty eyes."

"It's in there?" Breezy pointed to the closet, blue eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Yeah, he just lives there," Ryan passed her the cup, taking a seat across from her, face blocked by her bag.

"Describe the nightmare to me, Mr. Seaman,"

"Oh, uh... well I was here, but everything was really old, and there's was violin playing, and then he killed me."

She took a sip of the coffee, mouth twisting in disgust at the bitterness, regaining composure quickly. "That plays like a classic VD dream... don't worry, I'll have it extracted before sundown."

Ryan's stomach flipped, eyes darting over to the shadows of the closet. Extraction didn't sound painless, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was worried for the demon.

"What's uh... what is extraction referring to?" He prayed Breezy couldn't hear the nervousness in his voice.

"Nothing extreme, probably just a light exorcism, some rituals." She pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves, finally unzipping the backpack, glass jars rolling out onto the table. "This isn't my first rodeo with VD, let me tell you. This thing has escaped me for years, but today?"

She clicked her tongue, unscrewing the lid of one of the jars, clear liquid swirling around. "Today, I finally catch it. Could I see your hands, please?"

Ryan held his hands out in front of him, palms face up, shivering when Breezy rubbed something oily on them. It smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, shiny in the dim kitchen light. "What... is this?"

"Consecrated oil. Can't have any possessions happening, not after what happened last time." Breezy tsked, just like Dallon had in the nightmare.

"What- he can do that?"

"There's little it can't do, Mr. Seaman. That's why we're going to take all the necessary safety precautions." She rubbed the oil on her gloved hands, grabbing another jar, shimmering liquid sloshing against the sides.

Ryan got up and followed Breezy silently as she sat in front of the closet, peering in through the slates. "You're sure he's in there?"

"I mean, he was this morning... maybe he left." Ryan said, backing away when Breezy coughed into the air and shook her head, as if she was denying being sick.

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded awfully like 'son of a bitch', unscrewing the lid of the shiny jar.

"Wh-what is that?" Ryan kneeled next to her, the scent of the jar very familiar, like a candy store from his childhood.

"Liquified energy. My great-grandma used to be a demon hunter, and it's her recipe. Do you have a plate?"

Ryan nodded and hurriedly grabbed a clean plate from a cupboard, handing it to Breezy.

Breezy poured a dollop onto the plate, explaining when she saw Ryan's confused expression. "This is to make sure it doesn't take our energy as a fighting maneuver. If it's full, then it'll feel no need to fatigue us."

"That's... smart. By the way, I think he's a boy, from uh... context clues." Ryan was praying to whatever god was out there that Breezy wouldn't see past his wall of lies, and that he wouldn't accidentally let it slip that him and Dallon had romantic affairs.

"Demons are genderless beings. The Victorian Demon is an incubus, a demon that takes male form and lies with younger women in hopes of impregnating them. Do you live here alone, or does a girlfriend live with you? You might want to have her get a pregnancy test."

Ryan scratched the back of his neck, face blooming red at the thought of Dallon inseminating a woman. "N-No, I live alone,"

Breezy didn't give him a second glance, gingerly pushing the plate under the door, blue eyes wide with anticipation.

"S-Shouldn't we give him a spoon or something?" The outbreak of guilt inside Ryan was only spreading, like a rash of remorse, anxious to what would happen to Dallon. His skin itched with hives of regret, angry red bumps that couldn't be cured with medicine, prickling at his overworked heart. It made him crawl with misery to see the woman treat Dallon so primitively.

"Demons are more animal than human, so there's no need for-" Breezy was cut off by the rattle of the plate from behind the door, scraping against the floor as it was nudged out, spotless.

She chuckled, relief crossing her face briefly before her normal determined look was back, a fiery spirit in the ocean of her eyes. Ryan wished he had a smidgen of her confidence, the fierce way she stole everyone's attention, bold lips and bright shoes.

Breezy emptied the rest of the jar's contents and slid it under the door with the tips of her fingers, like she was afraid Dallon would bite.

Ryan wouldn't put biting past him, not after how he had been nibbling on his neck in the nightmare, sharp teeth nearly puncturing the tender skin.

Dallon had shown a side of him Ryan had never seen before in that night terror, like a venomous snake coiling around it's prey, seductive whispers intoxicating Ryan's naive brain. Dallon's soft hiss kept slithering through Ryan's ears, the murderous tempts, the ghost of his tongue on the back of his neck.

And now Dallon was veiling himself in murkiness, vacant eyes nowhere to be seen, various gulping and slurping noises heard from inside the closet.

Maybe Breezy was right and he was a wild animal, viscous and sadistic, and Ryan was the stupid victim who had fallen right into his trap.

The plate was shoved out more forcefully this time, knocking up against Breezy's leg before clattering to a halt, licked clean, not even a drop of the juice left.

"That worked better than I thought it would..." Breezy muttered under her breath, reaching into her jean jacket for her phone, quickly snapping a photo of the plate before cramming it back in her pocket. "Alright, this is where the tricky part begins."

"Are you gonna hurt him?" Ryan's voice wavered, distressed about what 'tricky part' meant.

"I'm not sure. This is my first time getting close enough to perform a proper exorcism." Breezy stuffed the empty jar in her backpack, returning to her spot kneeling in front of the door. "If this doesn't work then we'll have to get an actual priest in here."

Ryan gnawed on his lower lip in worry, the horrible bumps under his skin only growing worse, stinging with anxiety. As much as he was furious with the demon, he couldn't stand the thought of Breezy hurting Dallon, who must be scared out of his mind.

While Dallon might be a wild animal, he still had emotions and fears and deserved morality. Something about the demon reminded Ryan of the barn cats that hung around his grandparent's farm, how mysterious and cryptic they were, wide eyes gleaming like they held the secrets to the universe. He could only hope he wasn't injured by whatever Breezy was going to do.

She clasped her hands together in front of her and closed her eyes, sitting is prayer stance, murmuring quietly, almost inaudible to Ryan. The apartment air was still, like even it was holding it's breath in anticipation, torn furniture painted in oranges and yellows. A few 'fathers' and 'heavens' slipped past the curtain of silence, holy words falling past her purple lips, tempo increasing as she worked her way through the prayer.

At the beginning the closet had remained silent, but as Breezy sped up, little whimpers started to filter through the slates in the door, not much unlike Ronnie's sobs for help in the dream. Breezy opened one eyeshadow-coated eye at the sound, the corners of her mouth turning up in a triumphant grin.

Her prayer consisted of begs to God to rid the house of the evil spirit and other holy pleads Ryan couldn't understand, verses painting Dallon as a wicked creature, not the gentle demon Ryan had been falling in love with.

Ryan picked at his blisters, bottom lip red and raw from chewing on it, heart cracking with every tiny cry Dallon made. He didn't know how much more of it he could stand, burdened with the knowledge that he had brought Breezy here to harm the demon.

But then the blond-haired woman started to speak louder and Dallon's whines grew worse, morphing into agonizing wails, loud thuds against the thin closet walls. The huge pressure in Ryan's chest was only growing heavier and heavier as Breezy started to yell the prayer, combating Dallon's wounded howls, the two voices making the apartment seem louder than Ronnie's concerts were.

It was when it contorted into tormented shrieks that Ryan covered his ears, remorse hollowing out his chest, a vile taste crawling up the back of his throat. It sounded like Dallon was suffering immensely, pained screams making Breezy squeeze her eyes shut, focusing on speaking clearly amidst Dallon's guttural screeches.

Anguish started to build up inside Ryan among the mountain of guilt in his chest, shoulders curving inward like he was trying to shrink himself out of existence. He couldn't deal with this. He couldn't stand to hear Dallon's smooth voice cracking as he screamed like someone was torturing him, shrieks that sounded like they came from the depths of hell, thumps against the closet walls reverberating throughout the bones of the apartment.

Ryan couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop, stop!" He yelled out, small voice insignificant against the battle between Breezy and the demon.

Breezy's prayer trailed off, turning to gawk at Ryan with confused eyes, eyebrows knit tightly together. "What?"

"Stop hurting him, he's in pain." Ryan demanded, little tears welling up in his eyelids, clouding his vision.

"Mr. Seaman, it's a demon, the blessing is supposed to hurt him-" Breezy started, wearing a puzzled expression.

Ryan stood up, eternally grateful that Dallon's cries had stop, replaced with strained gasps for air. "No. Get out of my apartment."

Breezy slowly got up, heels clacking against the kitchen tiles as she grabbed her bag and backed away from Ryan, perplexed by his reaction. "Mr. Seaman, you can't want to have this thing in here living with you, it's dangerous!"

"I don't care anymore. Leave." Ryan felt broken down to his bare bones, chest empty of the pressure once she disappeared into the hallway.

Ryan locked the apartment door behind her and let go of a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, shoulders falling as all the tension they'd been holding dissipated.

"Dallon- Dal, 'm so sorry honey," Ryan leaned against the door and slid to the ground, hugging his knees close as tears started to seep into his jeans, rain beginning to fall inside his head.

"I-I didn't mean for it to hurt..." Ryan began to weep, head buried in his knees, regret and guilt coming down in sleets in his brain. "I was just s-scared of what you might do to me... that dream was really scary, Dallon."

The demon's eyes appeared, but they were... different. Instead of their usual fullness, they were like crescent moons, glowing white dulled by dark clouds. Nonetheless, it was a relief to see him, tortured wails echoing through Ryan's brain.

"...I didn't mean what I said, and I feel so bad... I'll- I'll be your precious rose again, if you still want to," Ryan hiccuped, wiping away his tears with his shirtsleeve, voice small and scraggly.

Something silky brushed against his exposed ankle, slowly twisting around his leg, soft and gentle.

A tendril.

_Dallon._

Ryan opened his hand for another to slip through, curling between his fingers, movements tame and placid. His heart stammered at the sight of the shadowy tendril intertwined between his fingers, like they were holding hands.

"Dal," He cooed, sunshine peeking out from behind the rain clouds in his mind, warm light shining down on Ryan. "Dallon, Dal, honey,"

He was solely talking to hear the sound of his own voice, the way Dallon's name fit in his mouth, to humanize the frightened demon. The tendril around his ankle rested there, glossy against his rough leg hair, serenity falling over the room. There was no sound except for Ryan's slow breathing and the rush of traffic outside his apartment, cars whizzing by.

Habitually, he rubbed the tendril between the rugged pads of his fingers, silken in his clutch. A quiet gasp came from behind him inside the closet, followed by soft moans, tendril fluttering in his hand as he sped up his rubbing.

"Does that feel good Dal?" Ryan whispered, running his hand over the velvety limb, thumb stroking the tip. "What about when I go like this?"

The moans grew a bit louder and more hurried, music to Ryan's ears. He had never heard Dallon like this, peaceful little noises of pleasure breathed out by the demon as Ryan's kneaded the tendril in his palm, muffled by the door separating them.

Ryan was unbelievably happy to know Dallon wasn't angry at him after what he'd done, heart floating as the tendril around his ankle caressed his leg softly. He cherished Dallon's little gasp when he closed his hand around the tendril and pressed a tender kiss to it, lips lingering for a moment before pulling away and continuing to massage the limb, eyelids feeling heavy.

He couldn't get rid of Dallon. He'd never forgive himself.

It was the same type of tranquility Ryan had felt in the wet dream, a blanket of warmth settling onto his body, mind feeling sleepy. The state his brain had fallen into made him want to cuddle up to the demon and doze off, eyes closing on their own accord, head resting against the closet door.

Ryan fell asleep with Dallon's tendril still in his hand, snoring lightly. Hours later, when he woke up, he would discover that Dallon had brought him to bed and tucked him in. But unbeknownst to Ryan, Dallon had laid next to him on top of the covers, watching the way his chest rose with every even breath, the way the golden sun made his skin glow.

**\- DALLON -**

The scene was absolutely perfect for his love's revenge.

Based on the appearance in Ryan's thoughts, he placed the idiotic singer in the chair, tied up and unaware of his situation.

The room was pitch black to human eyes, but Dallon could easily make out the surroundings, the singer writhing against the rope as he tried to escape. It did good for Dallon to see the person who'd hurt his baby tied up, struggling. But it wasn't the same way he felt when he saw Ryan tied up in his tendrils.

The singer deserved to be tied up and terrified. Ryan deserved nothing but pleasure and love.

All he needed was Ryan, heart pattering as he imagined his love's response, beyond thrilled that Dallon was giving him a chance at vengeance. And this time, Dallon would be there to watch Ryan kill his attacker, skin crawling with violent urges.

The demon could picture Ryan smiling his beautifully warm smile, droplets of blood running down his angelic face, thankful words falling past his lips. Dallon's insides tingled with desire to see his love murder the person who harassed him, to see that maniacal look in his eyes after killing someone, dark eyes blazing with admiration.

They would kiss in the shadows, the taste of the singer's blood on Ryan's lips, metallic and sharp. And maybe after- just maybe, Dallon could please his love further.

Yes, this was the perfect situation. Dallon's chest inflated with pride, a diabolical grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, standing back to admire the finished product of a wonderfully wicked dream.

The demon's chest quickly deflated when Ryan's head flooded with panic, the worst thing Dallon wanted to see. His love shouldn't be scared; he should be the one doing the scaring.

"Baby, my love, mon chéri, it's okay. I'm not here to hurt you, my beautiful rose." Dallon spoke softly on the back of Ryan's neck, taking in a deep breath, smelling the residual scent of his body wash even if it was just in a dream. Blazes, he loved the way Ryan smelled.

"Dal, what's going on here?" Ryan's voice wavered, worries flitting through his dreaming mind. Dallon couldn't stop himself from pressing kisses to his love's neck, tasting the sweat on his skin, body plastered to the shorter man's from behind. "Oh, Dallon... is this one of those dreams?"

"Mmm, sweetheart, I wish it was." Dallon's mind buzzed with fantasies of satisfying his love's lust, his beautiful face pinched in pleasure, the erotic whines that came from deep inside him. "That would be nice, wouldn't it darling?"

Ryan nodded, nerves still tense. "So... what's happening here then?"

Dallon sucked at Ryan's neck, licking columns up and down before blowing gently on the wet skin, savouring the way Ryan shivered. "Do you remember the man who punched you, my dear?"

A tiny flame of fury ignited inside his love, making Dallon's heart flutter with anticipation and excitement. He wanted to see Ryan angry and frenzied, to watch the thirst for bloodshed morph onto his face, his hands writhing to kill his assaulter.

He wanted to see Ryan go insane, blood dripping down his face, panting with adrenaline. He wanted to kiss his love down from his high, to ease the knife out of his tight grip, to lick the gore off his face. The demon didn't even care that he would still be veiled in darkness because of his shame- his baby kissing him would make up for it.

What Dallon really wanted, more than anything in the world, was to share the intoxication of killing someone who angered you. The way Ryan felt about the singer was the was Dallon felt about most humans, only on a smaller scale.

It was nice to share that feeling with the love of his life. All he wanted was to give Ryan the satisfaction of ridding himself of the pain his attacker had caused.

"No one gets away with hurting you, mon belle fleur." Dallon growled, tendrils accidentally tightening around Ryan as passion enflamed inside him. "So, I decided to give you a little gift..."

To Dallon's disappointment, Ryan's energy turned a hue of concern, not the thrill he was seeking.

Maybe Ryan was just confused- his love would definitely enjoy seeing the singer captured.

But a jarring spell washed over Ryan when he turned on the lightbulb, body turning to stone in Dallon's embrace.

No, no. He was just amazed by Dallon's brilliant surprise... right?

"He's all yours to hurt, my sweet little rose." Dallon ran his teeth over Ryan's neck, arousal flourishing when he imagined his sweet Ryan taking out all his rage on Ronnie.

He was going to be Dallon's little murderer, and Dallon loved it. All Ryan had to do was actually do it.

Yet he was still frozen in place when Dallon handed him the clean knife, staring at the wriggling Ronnie with eyes as wide as dinner plates, cute mouth agape.

"Tell me baby, what are you going to do to him?" Dallon hissed and lapped at his ear lobe, one tendril cupping Ryan's beautiful ass, breath hitching in his throat.

This was all his.

**_His._ **

"Hm, doll? Maybe you'll carve his eyes out, or cut a nice path through his heart... or maybe you could strangle him with those beautiful hands of yours, get yourself all dirty with his blood," Dallon nearly moaned at the thought of Ryan drenched in redness, hands twitching, falling into Dallon's open arms. "Mmm, darling, maybe after you could lick the blood off your fingers, show me what that tongue can do and maybe we could have one of those dreams, hm?"

He could already picture his love's face, red from adorable embarrassment as Dallon pleased him, gave him everything he wanted. The soft tendril slipping between his legs, the little whines Ryan would make, the way his body would tremble in Dallon's grip as the demon's tongue would explore Ryan's body to his heart's content.

 _'Come on, hurry this up.'_ Dallon thought, impatience growing as more explicit thoughts crossed his mind. Ryan's pleasure was a drug and Dallon was suffering withdrawal.

"Oh sweetheart, you're just in shock, aren't you? Do you remember how he hit you, and how mad you were? Don't you want to see him suffocate?" Dallon egged him on, his evil grin widening when Ryan clenched his fist around the knife. Yes, yes, his love was mad. He was going to kill that idiot and feel the high that came after murder, and then they could make love until the early hours of the morning.

"Yes, that's it darling. Use that anger, make him pay for ever laying a finger on you, for treating you so badly all these years." Attraction seared through Dallon's body as Ryan trudged towards the singer, a dark look in his eyes.

Dallon couldn't feel prouder of his sweet little murderer.

He couldn't wait for his precious rose to slaughter the terrified idiot. "Good boy, hurt him, rip his teeth out. Put the knife to his face and watch the way fear blazes behind his eyes, peel off his skin, taint your perfect soul with some murder." 

Ryan raised the knife in the air, fury radiating off of him, body burning with revenge.

It was the hottest thing the demon had ever seen.

Dallon held his breath, a low moan drawn out of him as the knife flew towards Ryan's attacker, electric joy zipping through his veins.

But before things were getting good, Ryan froze, knife just pressing into the singer's cheek.

"I-I can't." Ryan whispered, voice hoarse, hand shaking. "I can't do it."

No. Ryan was just confused. _He had to do it._

"Oh baby, what do you mean you can't do it?" Dallon plastered himself to the quivering man, loving how perfectly they fit together. "It's so easy to kill him sweetheart, it really is. Do you want some help?"

"Ye- no, no!" Ryan sounded hysterical. "He's just a fucking kid- I can't kill him!"

Dallon rolled his eyes, sucking a row of hickeys into his neck. "I think you can, my love. I think you just need me to show you how."

Ryan was just unsure how to kill him- that was all. All Dallon had to do was show him, and then they could skip straight to making out on top of each other. Yes, it was fine. This was fine.

The whiny singer was starting to cry, ticking the demon off further. What an idiotic little bug. If Ryan wasn't going to squash him, then Dallon was.

"Just watch darling, you'll feel much better, I promise." Dallon was still holding onto hope that Ryan would feel the euphoria, even if he wasn't doing the killing.

He curled a tendril around the discarded knife and offered it to Ryan, scoffing internally when his love remained as still as a statue.

Dallon twirled the knife in his tendril, power coursing through him. It was fine if Ryan didn't want his revenge- Dallon would get it himself.

Murder- even if it was only a dream- excited the demon, especially if it was for a vengeance. The first time Dallon killed someone, out of hate and fear, he'd cried for days, washing his hands repeatedly until they were a dry, cracked mess. But no matter how many times he scrubbed between his digits, under his nails, soap corroding away his skin, he couldn't get rid of the blood that tinted his hands pink, a horrible remorse hanging over him.

He killed someone. His once perfectly white soul had a black stain on it, one that would never be washed away. All he heard for days was their terrified screams for help, the way they choked when Dallon snapped their neck, eyes dimming.

Like all things in life, murder was an acquired taste, one that he quickly grew to love the worse he was treated. Dallon stopped hating those cries and started relishing in how powerful and free it made him feel, how slaughtering someone who displeased him felt like itching a scratch, an odd type of calm flowing through him.

The longer he stared at the teary-eyed musician, the more his smirk widened, hands roaming down Ryan's body to squeeze his cute ass. Yeah, this was good. Dallon could shut up those annoying cries and savor his love's adorable body all night long.

Dallon pulled back his hand and sunk the knife into the singer's chest, a chuckle escaping past his lips at shriek that echoed through the room.

No one would get away with harming his rose.

The demon left a trail of incisions in his chest, drinking up the tortured wails that ricocheted through Ryan's headspace.

He hurt Ryan. No one hurt Ryan. No one was allowed to touch Ryan but _him._

Happiness swelled inside Dallon at the sight of the singer's lifeless body sprawled out in the chair, laying limp in the bounds.

But Ryan, _oh Ryan._

His love had speckles of blood splattered across his face, little dots of red on his delicious lips, hummingbird heart beating rapidly.

He must be overjoyed to see his attacker dead.

"Awh, you look so pretty painted in blood, my beautiful little rose." Dallon grabbed Ryan's trembling shoulders and spun him around gently, licking the fluid off his parted lips. "Aren't you glad we finally got rid of that nuisance? Now we can be together forever sweetheart, without any bother."

But instead of melting into Dallon, Ryan drew in a sharp breath and screamed, waking both of them up immediately.

Darkness. Dallon had been toying with his dreams from the closet, jolting awake to the sound of his love panting in the other room.

Ryan was scared. Dallon scared him. No, he couldn't have.

If Dallon scared Ryan, he'd have to starve himself until he faded into the closet floor, a puddle of misery.

The demon shrunk away into the corner of the closet, trying to disappear into the shadows out of shame at the sound of Ryan stomping into the kitchen.

Ryan was mad. At him. _Ryan was mad at him._

Dallon felt like he was choking on his own cries, hands shooting to his mouth to gnaw at his nails. It was a habit he only picked up a few years ago, but it only happened when he was at his worst, chewing down the nails until black blood oozed out of his fingertips.

He was already halfway to bleeding, dismay and turmoil gathering in the depths of his stomach.

"Hey, what the fuck was that?!" Ryan yelled, making the demon flinch, fear spreading throughout his quivering body.

Ryan promised he wouldn't yell. Ryan promised.

His love was crouched in front of the floor, eyebrows drawn tightly together, fury laying deep behind the black sea of his eyes. Dallon trembled at the sight, a look he'd seen a thousand times before.

Disgust. His love didn't love him- why would he ever love a monster? And now Ryan was going to hurt him, just like every human ever.

"Dallon, I can't- you can't murder someone! Especially not Ronnie, he's a fucking teenager!" Ryan kept shouting, chiseling away at Dallon's courage.

With shaky hands, Dallon scrawled out his answer, murky tears threatening to drop onto the paper as one of his hands started to bleed, nails eaten down so far his fingertips were raw.

 _'He hurt you, my love. I only wanted to give you the vengeance you deserve. No one should get away with wilting your beautiful petals, my sweet little rose.'_ Dallon was trying to defend his actions, to piece together something that Ryan could understand.

Half of Dallon threw the paper across the room only because he was mad, but the other half did it to watch Ryan crawl towards it, giving the demon a great view of his ass in underwear.

The pleasure soon dissipated when Ryan turned around, face scrunched up in frustration, cheeks dusted pink.

"N-no. That nightmare was horrifying Dallon- I'm not your little rose. This whole demon-in-my-closet thing? It's- it's over." His voice held no emotion, empty of it's usual brightness. Even when the distraught demon peered into Ryan's mind, he could tell it was a definite answer.

At the words Dallon's heart shriveled, heartache washing over him in a tsunami. Ryan didn't only not want him there; he didn't want anything to do with Dallon.

It was over. No more wonderful warmth, no more excitement overwhelming the demon, no more staring at the neon-haired man in adoration.

Ryan didn't love him. And was going to get rid of him. Ryan was going to hurt Dallon.

 _'But he promised,'_ That stupid little voice hissed inside the demon's head. _'This is why you can't trust humans. They'll always see you as nothing more than a nauseating monster. You're an idiot to think Ryan could ever love you back.'_

Dallon buried his head in his knees, a weak sob scratching at his throat, threatening to escape.

Idiot. You fucking moron. You should've never fallen for a human.

Dallon rocked back and forth, tendrils wrapping around himself like a hug. It was a comforting gesture he did to ground himself when he felt his rational mind slipping away into despair, leaving him with nothing but misery and terrible thoughts that stung.

He was falling into someplace dark and lonely, tears soiling his dress shirt, not that it wasn't already dirtied with grim accumulated over the week.

It hurt. It hurt so much Dallon was nearly numb to it, staring blankly at the paint peeling off the wall, too deep in a gloomy trance to notice the notebook sliding across the floor back into the closet.

He knew Ryan had gone into his bedroom and he could easily leave right now without a trace.

But Dallon knew he couldn't. It would never be the same. He would rather sit there and take his bullets then leave Ryan forever, burdened with the knowledge that Ryan was out there, loving other people, being abused by his band.

Dallon would fade away into hell from behind that door if it meant Ryan would be safe and happy for the rest of his life.

Ryan had been pacing around the kitchen all morning, something doubtful brewing in his mind. Dallon didn't dare look through the slates of the closet, afraid that Ryan would snap at him, so he stuck with cradling himself, trying to pick up the broken pieces of his mind.

All the demon knew was that Ryan had called someone and was waiting for them to arrive, picking at his rough hands, only worsening his existing callouses. As per usual, Dallon wanted to go out and console him, to gently pull away his hands from prying at the blisters.

Except now the demon couldn't do that, even more so than before. He needed to stop treating it like they were married; Ryan didn't like him. It was plain as day, yet it pricked at Dallon's heart like a vine of thorns, increasingly painful every time he thought about it.

He didn't even cast a glance at the music box, the grief amplifying, harsh murkiness spreading through his chest.

Suddenly, there was a knock at Ryan's apartment door, and the nervous man darted out of sight to open it. Dallon's head swam with worries, stomach churning at the thoughts of what might happen to him.

But then then a female voice broke through the cloak of dark clouds in the demon's mind, and his dread doubled. He recognized that tone from somewhat recent encounters with the American Supernatural Association; it was the one woman who wouldn't quit trying to capture him.

Dallon knew what would happen to him if Breezy finally successfully caught him. He would be treated like a beast, locked away in some cage, scientists surrounding him at every hour of every day. He'd never see the light of day again, never get to roam the Earth freely, never experience life the same again.

Dallon didn't want to be trapped behind metal bars for the rest of his life, but it wasn't like he could leave. He was stuck.

Anxious, Dallon held his breath as Ryan and Breezy chatted, obviously talking about him. There was the familiar patter of Ryan's feet, now accompanied by the click-clacks of Breezy's heels, the scraping of chairs, and more general chatter.

The only thing relieving Dallon from straight-up running out the door when their backs were turned was the fact that Ryan was just as equally worried as Dallon, catching his bottom lip between his teeth while Breezy explained something.

Ryan was concerned for him. Argh, why did he have to be so kind?

Dallon wished he wasn't so madly in love with him. It would make this situation much easier- murder both of them and leave.

Then Breezy was pulling out a jar of something clear, making Dallon's head dully ache. Sacred items always had that effect on the demon, whether it be crosses, holy water or bibles. He didn't even want to begin to think about what would happen in he touched one; would he be scalded? Would he die? Or would it have no effect whatsoever?

Oh fuck- What if Breezy opened the door and poured it on him? Not only would he most likely be excoriated, Ryan would see him too and realize how terrible he looked.

When Breezy squatted and squinted at Dallon, he backed even further away from the door, preparing for the worst.

But instead the woman coughed and opened a jar of something that smelled incredibly appetizing. The demon's stomach growled at the scent, starving once again.

The energy Ryan had given him two days ago only lasted so long, especially because it wasn't very much. The last thing Dallon wanted to do was hurt Ryan, but here he was, being eradicated because he had frightened the blue-haired man.

He watched with wide eyes as a plate with a drop of the delicious liquid was pushed under the door slowly, mouth almost watering from hunger.

No, he couldn't. It was a trap. It had to be a trap. Why would the one woman looking to exterminate him give him such a savory meal?

Dallon couldn't wait any longer, swiping at the dot with his finger and bringing it to his mouth.

The demon nearly melted at how good it tasted, like liquid sugar, already craving more. It was better than any energy he'd ever taken, sweet syrup that dissolved on his taste buds.

Wanting more, Dallon poked the plate out with his feet, afraid that Breezy would grab him by the finger and cut it off, or something like that.

His requests were understood well enough by Breezy when she gave him a full plate, staring at him with blue eyes that reminded him of his own, too preoccupied with drinking the rest of the elixir. He was careful to make sure every last drop made it into his open mouth, not wanting to waste any of the candied juice.

When the plate was empty, Dallon shoved it under the door and leaned back against the wall, positively stuffed. It was odd that a power high didn't sneak up on him, with it being the best meal he'd had in a while.

Nonetheless, Dallon was too drowsy to care, falling into a peaceful headspace. Every worry he'd had about Breezy still existed, but they were much more insignificant to his yearn for a nap. He didn't notice the way Ryan was squirming nervously, or the way Breezy wore a pleased grin, explaining something to the former, making his anxiety skyrocket.

A jarring feeling started to prick at the demon's brain, interrupting his calm. It only worsened as moments passed, like a knife was digging into his head and prodding around the edges of his mind, searching for something to impale.

 _'Stop-'_ Dallon tried to yell, but his voice was lost to the whimper that bubbled up in his throat, many more to follow as the sensation grew.

He finally realized what was happening when Breezy's words started to filter into the closet; she was praying, holy words impairing Dallon.

As her divine words grew louder, Dallon covered his ears in distress, but it was useless. Screams were torn from him as he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin, sizzling flames licking at his heart, holy knife wedging itself inside his brain. The acidic taste of his own blood filled his mouth as he coughed it out, drowning on it.

It was the most horrible feeling in the world, worse than the knowledge that his one true love didn't love him back. No, this was _excruciating._ The demon felt like his soul was being ripped from his body, blinding lights flashing behind his eyes, howls escaping his shredded throat.

Make it stop make it stop _make it stop!_

Dallon couldn't help himself, thrashing around in the closet, body writhing as tears gushed from his eyes, knocking into the walls. He was trying to get away from the sound in every way possible, pressing his hands into his pounding head, wailing to drown out her cruel worship to God.

Curled in a little ball on the ground, Dallon was seeing white, tears dripping onto the floor. He was dying. He was dying and he was sure of it, quivering in agony, voice scratchy as he screamed into oblivion, something torrid buzzing inside him, words branded onto his brain.

Hurts hurt _hurts._ He couldn't think about anything else, clawing at his face, leaving red scratches that would never fully heal. Dallon wanted to wither away into nothing, _anything_ to rid himself of the burning gashes that were being cut into his brain, to die right then and there.

"Stop, stop!" Dallon could barely make out Ryan's tiny voice, shrill static nestling itself in his head, pain fading out as the woman's words slowed.

Dallon was still twisting in anguish, aches lingering even after the prayer was cut short, thankful that his body had stopped forcing him to cry. "What?"

"Stop hurting him, he's in pain." Ryan sounded choked up, words a saving grace to the tortured demon.

Grasping for air, Dallon missed the rest of their conversation, only partly aware Ryan had forced the woman to leave. His savior. Ryan was his savior.

It was incredibly difficult to read Ryan's mood while still riding off the last waves of torment, but Dallon strained to know if Ryan was just being kind or had changed his mind. He _needed_ to know.

Oh Dickens... oh no. Ryan wasn't just remorseful- he was crying. No, no, he shouldn't be. Dallon should be the only one crying. _Don't cry Ryan._

"Dallon- Dal, 'm so sorry honey," Ryan wheezed, sitting against the closet door, giving Dallon a view of his floral print shirt. The demon couldn't see his face, but he could picture the pretty crystalline tears that slipped down his cheeks, the way his love would nibble on his lower lip.

Ryan still felt for him. _Ryan called him honey._ Dallon's life was still worth living.

"I-I didn't mean for it to hurt..." Ryan's voice was small, not carrying it's usual deep tone. "I was just s-scared of what you might do to me... that dream was really scary, Dallon."

Dallon met Ryan's weepy eyes when the sorrowful man twisted around, black tears bleeding from his own eyes, heart lurching into his throat.

"...I didn't mean what I said, and I feel so bad... I'll- I'll be your precious rose again, if you still want to,"

Ryan didn't mean it. Ryan wanted to be his precious rose. Ryan was his precious rose.

**_His._ **

Dallon needed to touch Ryan. He needed to feel his dry skin under his tendril, to feel the realness of the man, to confirm that this wasn't a hazy vision, or that he had died.

He slid a tendril through one of the slates in the door and curled around Ryan's ankle, breathing a silent sigh of relief when Ryan's tense body softened.

Ryan opened his furled palm to let Dallon slip another through, rough blisters rugged against the smoothness of the limb. They were holding hands. Dallon forgave his love immediately, all pain forgotten.

He loved Ryan.

"Dal," His love cooed, voice adorably light. "Dallon, Dal, honey,"

Dallon loved the way his name sounded in Ryan's mouth, the way happiness buzzed through his chest, as if it was healing all the damage the woman had caused. Sure, the scratches on his face were beginning to burn, and pangs of discomfort kept making his body twitch, but having Ryan sit there and call him honey made up for all of it.

Little stars started to flicker behind the demon's eyes as Ryan did that one little gesture that made Dallon moan, pleasure coursing through his veins. unable to hold still. The pads of his fingers were weathered from years of drumming, coarse skin rubbing the tendril ever so gently, igniting a flame of delight in Dallon's gut. 

"Does that feel good Dal?" Ryan started to caress the tip of the tendril weaved around his fingers, body emanating nothing but sleepy bliss. "What about when I go like this?"

Even though he knew Ryan couldn't see him Dallon nodded, moan after moan slipping past his parted lips, cuts on them still oozing blood.

Dallon gasped quietly when he felt Ryan's soft lips press to the silky limb, hesitating there for a moment before he pulled away and returned to stroking the tendril, little sparks of warmth kindling in the bottom of his stomach.

Love. _Dallon loved Ryan._ It was so serene, an intense certainty popping up in Dallon's mind.

He was supposed to be here, loving Ryan. It didn't make much sense rationally, but it was something Dallon knew, an unwritten law of the universe. It was... meant to be, just like how all of Dallon's favourite novels described true love.

If only he could reveal himself to Ryan.

His love was fading away into slumber, fingers slowing until they halted completely, his head laying against the door. Dallon was careful not to wake him up while opening the closet door and carrying him into the bedroom, eyes glued to the flutter of his thick eyelashes, how positively peaceful he looked asleep. He barely weighted anything in the demon's arms, rolling over when Dallon placed him down on the bed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Settling down next to him to observe, Dallon's heart gushed at how angelic his love was, throbbing in his chest.

Ryan could never murder anyone; he was too pure. Somehow, that only made Dallon love him more. He was his adorable angel, his precious rose, his chéri. 

Dallon knew deep down that Ryan could stab him in the arm with a butter knife and it would only make the demon fall even madder in love. He would sew his arm up, plant a kiss to Ryan's nose and ask what he wanted for dinner- that was, if he had mustered up enough bravery to show himself.

Because at the end of the day, Ryan's love was a drug,

And Dallon was addicted.

**\- END OF ACT 5 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay first of all, where can I buy some liquid energy because I am starving as I write this.
> 
> Secondly, woah this chapter is so long too!! Absolutely insane, at least I think so ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!!! I'm not sure when to expect the next chapter but I will work to get it out ASAP :) <3


	6. ACT SIX -  C'est la fin pour nous, mon chéri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!! The song for this chapter is Love At First Sight by The Brobecks
> 
> TW: Opioid use, homophobic language and use of the r-word. Please only read if you're comfortable!! <3

**\- RYAN -**

Ugh...

Ryan felt like shit.

He had woken up hours later, fully clothed under his blankets, a dull headache inhabiting his head.

It was as if cotton was in his mouth, dry and scratchy, pain laying deep down the back of his throat, a coughing fit creeping up on him. Chills ran through him, yet he was drenched in sweat, body unbelievably tired.

Fuck, he was sick.

Breezy must have given him whatever she had earlier that morning, or maybe he picked it up from someone in the band. Either way, Ryan had a practice he needed to attend to, even if it was going to be the worst practice of his life.

Since Ronnie had punched him, his phone had been blowing up with threats from not only the lead singer, but other members of the band too. Ryan had guessed that Ronnie roped them into harassing him, just like he always did.

His calendar app had given him a notification that he had a practice at 1, which was one hour from then. Even while Ryan was still shaken from the punch, he appreciated getting paid, and still needed to make money.

The phone's screen was all too bright for Ryan's weary eyes, lids growing heavy as an urge to just go back to sleep came over him.

No- he needed to go to that practice, even if it killed him. He would take some cough medicine, slap his cheeks until they returned to their normal colour and drag himself to the studio.

Ryan suddenly remembered he had something better than ordinary cough medicine: codeine. There was a bottle gathering dust somewhere in his kitchen that Ronnie had given him a few weeks ago. Ryan didn't ask how he'd gotten his hands on an opioid, stashing it deep in a cupboard, hoping no one ever came over and saw it.

His bare feet met with the cool floor, leaving footprints of sweat as he staggered into the kitchen, legs refusing to hold him up.

Ryan was too busy leaning against the counter for support to see Dallon's white eyes peeking out from the closet, swirling with curiosity.

C'mon, it had to be in one of his cupboards. Dust floated through the air as Ryan shoved around old cans that he never bothered to clean out, knees trembling beneath him, bumping into door handles.

Finally. The bottle was tinted brown, some random pharmaceutical information printed on the side, a long list of warnings typed in small font. Great, now all he had to do was chug it and tolerate Ronnie's raspy voice for a few hours.

How hard could it be? He'd only been doing it 2 years- he could survive one practice.

The medicine had a sweet coating, but as he gulped mouthful after mouthful, it left a bitter aftertaste, stinging his already painful throat.

"What are you doing, mon chéri?" Dallon's smooth voice rang out behind him, one tendril weaving itself between his hand and the bottle, forcing Ryan to stop drinking the syrup.

"I'm sick and I have a practice to get to," Ryan croaked, his usually full tone cracking as another cough bubbled up from his throat.

"You should be resting sweetheart, not playing the drums." Dallon said. Ryan knew that the demon was standing behind him, but couldn't find the strength to turn around from the counter, no matter how bad his curiosity was.

"No, I need to go," His voice was weak and nasally, nose stuffed full of crap, dripping down his throat. He grabbed at the bottle but Dallon held it out of his reach, placing it on the top of a cupboard Ryan couldn't open without a chair.

"I'm sure your band won't miss you if you skip because you're sick, doll. Let me take care of you, alright my love?" Dallon's bony hands were resting on his elbows, guiding him away from the pantry. Ryan considered what the demon was saying- Yeah, Ronnie wouldn't care if he didn't show up, and he was feeling too dead to really care himself. It wasn't like he could make Ronnie any more angry than he already was anyways.

"M'kay..." Ryan let himself melt into Dallon, closing his eyes when the demon picked him up and carried him to the bedroom bridal style. Ryan was beyond proud that Dallon was feeling confident enough to show himself, but his crave to sleep defeated his crave to see Dallon, hands slipping on his knobby shoulders.

The codeine had started to set in, vision and mind fuzzy alike, everything going blurry around the edges. Ryan only knew that they were in his bedroom, then he was sitting on his bed and his shirt was going over his head, cool apartment air hitting his sweltering skin.

An old band shirt was slipped on him as Ryan's mind raced to keep up, ultimately giving up and letting the medicine take him into a haze.

A sneeze snuck up on him, followed by three more before he shook his head, eyes closing by themselves no matter how hard Ryan tried to keep them open.

Then his socks and pants were replaced with loose pajama pants, and he was coaxed into bed, only able to make out the blurred figure of Dallon.

Dallon. He was taking care of him. Ryan felt his mouth curve into a wide smile, peaceful happiness falling over his airy heart.

"What are you smiling about?" Dallon voice sounded so far away, gentle and kind.

Dallon was

so

kind.

Ryan shook his head again, something soft slithering into his hand, crisp sheets pulled over him.

Quiet.

Everything was

so

tranquil.

Ryan slid right into slumber, head propped up a couple pillows, cozy in his own cocoon of light sheets.

His mind rode out waves of dreamless silence, disrupted occasionally by a cough or a sneeze, hands fumbling blindly for some tissues. Ryan knew that Dallon was sitting next to him, handing him tissues rubbing his back when the coughing got to be too much and tears would prickle at his eyes.

Dallon

loving

love

God, he loved

Dallon.

"Can you open your mouth for me babydoll?" Dallon was there, but he wasn't. Ryan reached out to touch the demon, meeting with smooth skin and an ear.

He

was

there.

Ryan did as he was asked, eyes cracked open the slightest bit, eyelashes lacing his vision.

Something metallic and cold was placed under Ryan's tongue.

Thermometer.

It gave a tiny beep once Ryan's temperature was read, finally pulled out of his mouth.

That thing had been there forever.

No, just ten seconds.

Whatever.

"You have a fever sweetheart," Dallon's skeletal hand was on his forehead.

It was so cold.

It felt

good.

Ryan fell right back asleep, something else acting as his cushion. Something,

or someone.

This was too much to keep up with. Every uneven breath he drew in was wheezy, hacking up more stuff from the cavern in his chest, head stuffy.

Was

this

a

dream?

No.

His face was rubbing against sleek fabric, someone else's chuckle filling his mind as he twisted, looking for a good position to lie down in.

Ryan didn't know how long had passed until another coughing fit shook him out of sleep, choking him until his throat was nothing but dryness, like tiny grains of sand were filing through the human equivalent of an hourglass.

Plastic. Wet. A plastic bottle was held to his lips, but Ryan couldn't stay awake long enough to swallow more than a few mouthfuls.

"I need you to drink all this for me, darling. Please?"

Dallon asked so politely. He was so polite. He was so nice.

Ryan's mind strained to keep running, guzzling down the rest of the liquid. It kept the dryness at bay for a few moments before he coughed and it was back to being a dessert, winds whipping sand around, sun beating down on him.

"Good boy," The words made Ryan smile widely, another heat wave washing over him.

It's

so

hot.

His hair held dampness, that disgusting feeling that sometimes accompanied a good night's sleep, one that required a shower to shake. His clothes were damp too, sticking to his skin as he frantically felt around for the demon.

There. He grabbed hold of Dallon's cheek, pulling him in for a kiss.

Dallon's kiss would make everything better.

The demon's lips met with his own, soft and welcoming. He kissed Dallon blindly, not strong enough to hold open his eyes, lids weighing a thousand pounds.

Feels

good.

Ryan giggled at the thought of Ronnie, standing in their practice room, probably pissed off. This was much better than going to practice.

But the fervor disappeared, making Ryan whine.

"Shh, you need sleep, sweetheart," Dallon's long fingers stroked his hot cheek, moving up to card through his neon hair, cajoling him into laying down.

Ryan didn't notice that Dallon had hidden his phone alongside the codeine, unsure how to turn of the horrible vibrating. Since missing the practice, Ronnie's text messages had only grown in size and aggression, a continuous buzzing sound that only electronics and bees could make.

And then he was waking up again when his mind decided he'd gotten enough sleep, everything still dreamy and vague.

Ugh.

Hungry.

"Dal..." Ryan called out, hands stumbling around the bed until he felt the familiar warmth of the demon, a tendril slipping between his outstretched fingers. "Dallon..."

"What's wrong, my love?"

Pretty.

"'m hungry,"

Man, Ryan had slept for a while. The sun was setting outside, room painted a fuzzy golden colour, a chill running through his suddenly restless legs.

"You wait right here sweetheart, I'll make you something." A kiss was pressed to his forehead before Dallon's blurry figure left the room, sadness filling Ryan's weak heart.

Want

Dallon

back.

He flopped down onto the bed, dizzy and obviously sedated. Ryan couldn't feel much but the way his mind floated, slipping between consciousness, unsure what was real life and what was dream anymore.

Was earlier today even real?

Yes.

Fuck. He didn't want Dallon to hurt.

New tears began to cloud Ryan's already murky vision, frustration overtaking his fragile body.

Luckily, Dallon returned before Ryan could fully break down in bed, emotions hanging on a tripwire.

There was the clatter of a bowl to his nightstand, and then the demon was settling down on the edge of the bed, a perfect opportunity for Ryan to sit on his lap.

The sick man clambered onto Dallon's lap, burying his face in the crook of Dallon's neck, breathing through his mouth. Ryan wished his nose was clear so he could appreciate the way Dallon smelled like roses, a flowery fragrance that was comforting.

"I made you some soup, mon chéri," Dallon whispered into Ryan's ear, making Ryan's heart patter with excitement.

Fuck, he loved soup.

"Thank you..." He mumbled into Dallon's neck, collarbones jutting out of the demon's pale skin.

Dallon

was

like

a

pretty

sculpture.

His two hands were resting on Ryan's hips, tendrils grabbing the bowl and spoon before separating Ryan from his chest.

"Open up for me baby boy," Dallon cooed, holding the warm spoon to Ryan's lips.

He parted them without a second thought, met with the taste of chicken broth.

Chicken noodle soup. Ryan's favourite.

Ryan could feel his eyes begin to droop again as Dallon fed him, the waves of sleep passing through his mind once more. A calm lull had been cast on him, accepting spoonfuls of soup until he heard the clink of the bowl on wood, a velvety limb coiling around his wrist and fingers.

"Are you full, darling?" Dallon voice echoed through the emptiness of Ryan's mind, hollowed out by the sedative medicine.

Slowly, he nodded, hearing the ruffling of sheets and feeling the sleek fabric against his uninjured cheek before falling back into darkness.

The next time he woke up it was because he needed to blow his nose, hands scrabbling around for a tissue before one was handed to him.

Outside was completely dark, thick clouds blocking out any sign of the moon, the entire room cast in blackness.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" While Ryan couldn't see Dallon, he felt his tendril curled around his fingers, relieving his sudden panic when he couldn't find the demon.

"M' throat hurts..." Ryan spoke into the darkness, words broken by a sneeze.

"Do you want more water?" There was the crackle of plastic, and then Ryan's lips met with the smooth lid, gulping down the water like he hadn't had any in weeks.

"Can you... turn on the light?" Ryan said, listening closely for the click of the bedside lamp, room suddenly illuminated in yellow.

Dallon was sitting on the bed next to him, but Ryan's mind was so out of it, he couldn't stay focused on when the demon looked like. He could only make out the whiteness of his eyes before leaning on his shoulder and resting his own eyes.

"Mm... you're so creepy looking Dal," Ryan mumbled, a smile tugging at his lips. "So creepy n' pretty... pretty pretty pretty..."

He trailed off in a singsong tone, voice light and airy, cuddled up against Dallon. A pair of warm lips pressed against his, eliciting a tiny gasp from the sick man, two tendrils coiled around his hands.

"You're the pretty one, mon chéri," Dallon muttered, laying kisses to his cheeks, nose and forehead. Ryan made a happy noise, nuzzling into Dallon's neck, drifting off into that weird space between consciousness and sleep where time seemed to move differently.

"You're like... a leech," Ryan slurred, completely loopy. "My pretty little demon boyfriend..."

"Boyfriend?"

"Mhmm... what are you, the king of hell or somethin'?"

Dallon laughed, a wonderfully joyous sound that brightened the dim room. "Then you would be my powerful consort, mon belle fleur. And we would rule the underworld together, wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Ryan nodded, a sleepy smile spreading on his lips, breaths growing gradual.

Dallon would be so pretty on a throne.

Ryan would love to sit on his lap on a throne.

"...Dal?"

"Yes, mon chéri?"

"Can you... can you sing for me? You have such a pretty voice..." Ryan hummed, hands trailing up and down Dallon's arm, feeling the velvety fabric.

Everything was so sluggish, waves of calmness washing over his brain, each second dribbling by slow as molasses. All he wanted to do was sleep and snuggle, Dallon's soft kisses curing the throbbing pain in his head, his blocked sinuses, the scratchiness of his throat.

"Of course I can, my love. You let your mind rest, and I'll see if I can remember any songs."

Ryan did as he was instructed, letting the tranquility run through his head, blissfully happy. It was the type of happiness you could only achieve while delirious, making Ryan feel like he was the luckiest, most content person on Earth.

Dallon's soft voice nudged it's way into Ryan's headspace, so alluring and charming Ryan believed he was dreaming. Dallon sang of the enchanting, simple things about love, darkened nights and violent things, vaudevillian girls and violin strings, melody gliding through Ryan's dopey brain like water on glass.

It was bewitching, his steady voice echoing through the sanctuary of Ryan's bedroom, lulling Ryan into sleep. He was so... so...

so perfect.

He fell asleep to Dallon's tune of devotion, so positively deep in love it was impossible to run from his feelings anymore. Besides, Ryan's legs didn't exactly work properly right now, and he'd have no choice but to let Dallon carry him around.

Not that he was complaining, though.

When Ryan's bladder woke him up that morning, the sun was shining outside, curtains spread to reveal a beautifully empty sky. He climbed over two long legs and sprinted to the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror while he washed his hands.

A pair of bloodshot eyes stared back at him, chin covered in uncomfortable scruff. He sniffled and wiped his running nose with the back of his hand, a spell of dizziness overwhelming him as everything came rushing back, mind finally clear.

Dallon had taken care of him?

Dallon was out there in his bedroom.

Dallon had shown himself.

Ryan rushed back into the bedroom, tripping over his own weak legs, standing in the doorway as he took in Dallon's appearance.

The demon was surrounded by bunched-up sheets, snoring quietly, head lolled against the headboard.

He was... _gorgeous_.

The thick hair Ryan had run his hands through was a chocolate brown, a few loose strands covering his dainty eyelashes, eyelids twitching as he slept. The sleek fabric Ryan had nestled his face in was a suit jacket, a navy blue that complimented the crimson bow tie attached to his black dress shirt, everything splattered with what looked like ink blotches.

Dallon's tendrils and arms were sprawled across mountains of pillows Ryan hadn't seen in years, lanky legs stretched out over the white sheets.

Long, jagged gashes were etched onto the demon's face, and Ryan couldn't help but hope he didn't do those. His memory was still a bit foggy from before.

"Dal..." The nickname fell from his mouth, frozen in awe at how alluring Dallon was, like a dapper gentleman in a renaissance painting.

He couldn't believe this was what Dallon was hiding.

The demon's eyes fluttered open to reveal his moon eyes, surprise flickering behind them. "Ryan... how is your throat, mon chéri?"

Ryan crawled onto his lap, planting his face in the warm coven of Dallon's neck, dampening his skin with his tears. "Dallon... you're so handsome- you had nothing to hide,"

Ryan couldn't believe that this wasn't a dream, that Dallon had shown himself and taken care of him. He especially couldn't believe that he had harmed Dallon, had wanted him gone, and even after all of that Dallon still took care of him.

He couldn't contain how proud he was of Dallon, happiness spilling out of his eyes in wet tears, every stupid worry about Ronnie thousands of miles away.

"Oh my love, there's no reason to cry, pretty little rose." Dallon cooed, hands cupping Ryan's jaw as he tried to slow his ragged breaths, resulting in a coughing fit. "Here baby, drink some water."

Ryan grabbed the waterbottle out of Dallon's tendril and took a few sips, composing himself. "Dallon, I- you're so pretty, I can't believe no one's ever told you that before."

"You're so kind darling," Dallon's moon eyes were looking down at him with so much adoration, it made Ryan's chest go fuzzy, heart rippling with love. "Mon belle petit amour... you have such a beautiful soul, my sweetheart."

Ryan blushed, nuzzling into the smooth hand caressing his cheek, wincing when a dull pain begun to throb throughout his face. Dallon looked so kissable right now, lips turned up in a small tender smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled, a few stray hairs fallen into his face.

Ryan's stomach was full of shimmering butterflies, batting their wings, love swimming through his veins.

Love.

Oh god... he loved Dallon.

"Do you want some breakfast, babydoll?" Dallon asked, running his thumb over Ryan's cheekbones.

"I love you." The words came from the bottom of Ryan's chest, unable to stop them from bubbling up.

"Oh baby..." Dallon's smile deepened, a tendril slipping between Ryan's fingers. "I love you too, mon belle ange. I've loved you since the first moment I laid my eyes on you."

Ryan sneezed, affection flooding his head, trembling with happiness.

He was unchained to reality, floating on another wavelength. Ryan swore that him and Dallon were the only people in the world, two puzzle pieces that clicked together in union, so encompassed with a burst of emotion.

Dallon loved him. It seeped into the pores of Ryan'a heart, words so sure and certain it made Ryan feel like the most precious jewel in the universe.

"Do you want me to bring you breakfast in bed?" Dallon sounded choked up, but there were no tears in his blank eyes, a watery grin plastered on his perfectly chiseled face.

"Can I watch you make it?"

"Of course sweetheart, I'd love that." Swiftly, Dallon scooped him up and carried him to the kitchen, setting him down on the counter. The coldness of the granite seeped through his thin pajama pants, sending a shiver down his spine.

"...Dal?" Ryan kicked his feet up, watching with big eyes as Dallon gathered ingredients Ryan didn't even know he had. Sunlight was making the entire room look like it belonged in an IKEA catalog, the same type of lightness Ryan felt in his chest.

"Yes baby?" When Dallon set down the bag of flour a cloud of whiteness puffed up and Ryan realized what Dallon was making: pancakes.

"...Thank you for this."

"Oh sweetie," Dallon crossed the kitchen and kissed Ryan's blocked nose, blank eyes twinkling like the bright moon on a clear night. "I love taking care of you, mon chéri."

Ryan looked away coyly, face blooming red. Dallon was too nice for a demon.

Ryan watched Dallon make him pancakes, sitting in comfortable silence.

Being around the tall demon made Ryan so relaxed, watching with heavy-lidded eyes, considering what life would be like living with Dallon.

...Dallon was going to live with him for now on, right?

Ryan wouldn't mind being coddled for the rest of his life, spoiled rotten by Dallon every day. But Ronnie wasn't going to welcome Ryan back to the band without hassle, and he needed money if now he'd be supporting two people.

And what would his mom say, living with something nonhuman? Her and Ryan had always been close, and while they shared the same opinion about Ronnie, he wasn't sure if she would approve of Dallon.

Dallon shook the pan, sliding the golden pancake onto a plate, a sweet scent of sugary batter and syrup wafting through the air.

"Want me to feed you, darling?" Dallon picked up Ryan's weak body and sat him on his lap, tendrils carrying the spoon and plate behind them.

"Yes please," Ryan's nerves flittered with love, opening his mouth for Dallon.

He must be dreaming. Dallon couldn't actually be here, feeding him a heavenly pancake he cooked for him, beaming with infatuation.

When he was full, Ryan let himself doze off, head resting on Dallon's shoulder.

"My pretty angel..." Dallon's hands were stroking his hair, tendrils swaddling the sick man. Ryan's head was still pounding with worries, but Dallon's sweet words made everything seem insignificant.

"Dallon..." Ryan mumbled.

"Yes sweetheart?"

"I'm sorry for hurting you yesterday..."

"Oh baby boy, it's okay," Dallon pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry for scaring you with that nightmare, mon petit fleur."

Ryan giggled halfheartedly at the mention of Ronnie. "It's okay... I don't know how I'm gonna deal with that asshole."

"Do you want me to?"

As much as Ryan kinda wanted to see that, he couldn't. "No, no... actually, I have an idea...."  
  
  


The sun was beginning to disappear behind the horizon as Ryan pulled into the parking lot of their studio, streetlights highlighting circles of the sidewalk.

Ryan was terrified of Ronnie's reaction, but Dallon had reassured him that if anything went wrong then Dallon would bring the nightmare to life.

The front door creaked when Ryan threw it open, low music echoing through the hall. Great, they were playing the song Ryan hated most.

"You fucking retard! How dare you show your faggot face around here after ditching us?"

Ronnie's words were sharp and jagged, digging deep beneath Ryan's skin. He tried to think of Dallon's sickly sweet praise, all the lovely pet names and affection that he showered Ryan with.

Everything was okay. Ryan was going to do this.

"Ronnie,"

Uh oh. That came out much more frightened than Ryan wanted.

"I'm leaving the band, and don't even think about spreading a rumour unless you want my boyfriend to kill you. And he will do that."

Ronnie's face was frozen in disgust, a half sneer plastered on his mouth. The rest of the band only stared in surprise as Ryan backed out of the room, not wanting to turn his back to the ticking time bomb that was Ronnie.

As soon as he felt the door handle behind him, Ryan booked it to his shitty car, adrenaline crashing down over him in euphoria. He did it. He left the band!

It was absolutely wonderful. Ryan hadn't felt this free in years, unchained to any assholes or future crimes he was sure Ronnie would commit. And the fact that Dallon was waiting for him at home, outside of the closet?

Ryan felt like he was walking on air, mind buzzing on cloud nine.

"How did it go, my love?" Dallon was sitting on the couch when Ryan pushed open his apartment door, the music box sitting on his lap, silent.

"Oh Dallon, it went so much better than I imagined!" Ryan nearly squealed, breathless from excitement. He was so happy he didn't even care about the fact that he didn't have a job anymore- finally, he could start a new chapter of his life, unburdened with worries about what Ronnie or the band might say.

He was free.

"That's amazing mon chéri! You must feel better." Dallon smiled widely, sunlight outside making his cheekbones glow.

Dallon was so damn beautiful.

"I do... today has been one of the best days of my life..." Ryan's cheeks hurt from grinning so hard, unable to shake the relief from his face, body light like a million pounds had been taken off his shoulders.

"Here's to making many more of those, my sweetheart. I love you."

"I love you too Dal."

**\- DALLON -**

Ryan was unwell.

His body temperature was way above average, he stumbled into the kitchen like a dead man, and most importantly, he didn't even bother saying good morning to Dallon.

The demon watched carefully as Ryan sifted through cupboards, muttering to himself, obviously looking for something.

After watching him sleep for a while, Dallon returned to the closet and toyed with the music box, contemplating the events of last night and earlier today.

Whatever Breezy had done to Dallon left an aftermath of pain, twitched when spasms of agony would course through Dallon unexpectedly, hands jerking into unnatural positions like he was electrocuted one too many times. Whether it be nearly dropping his beloved music box, or accidentally smacking the wall with his knuckle, it truly was inconvenience, besides the fact that it hurt tremendously. Thankfully, it seemed to be slowing down with every little note the music box plucked, soothing his agitated nerves.

Honestly, Dallon didn't blame Ryan for going to such measures. He supposed he had been a bit fearsome- after years of collecting countless human lives, the demon had grown accustomed to it. Dallon wasn't going to lie though; it had been very exhilarating to kill Ronnie. 

Nothing bad could **ever** happen to Ryan again.

That's why Dallon had to help him. To his best knowledge Ryan lived alone, and no one else was going to take care of his precious rose.

 _'You can't.'_ The voice said in his mind, almost laughing at the prospect of Dallon leaving the closet. _'Why would you want to scare a sick man? He'd be much better off without seeing your face.'_

Five minutes ago Dallon would have agreed, but Ryan had unscrewed the cap to a very strong smelling chemical substance and was chugging it with no end in sight.

Dallon had to help him.

 _'No, no, stop!'_ The voice shrieked when Dallon nudged open the door and slipped out, legs quivering beneath him. What if Ryan saw and didn't like him? Dallon didn't think he would be able to handle that.

No, don't be selfish. Ryan is sick and needs someone to take care of him.

Dallon took small, quiet steps towards the sick man, praying to a higher power that Ryan wouldn't see him and run away.

"What are you doing, mon chéri?" Dallon wove his tendril in between Ryan and the bottle, worried about whatever drug it was, reeking of chemicals. It couldn't be healthy to drink that much that fast.

"I'm sick and I have a practice to get to," Ryan sounded as dead as he looked, his usual deep tone scratchy and cracked. Dallon reeled away when he coughed, suddenly remembering demons couldn't get sick.

It was a fact Dallon learned after so many visits to orphanages where children trembled with weakness, a plethora of sicknesses plucking the children few and far between. Whenever he visited those seemingly empty orphanages his heart hung heavy in his chest, one or two children playing with spare buttons on the ground, murmuring in child-talk to each other.

Dallon would leave marbles, gum, small pieces of bread and anything else he could steal for them, watching over the kids like he was their guardian angel, delightfully giddy at the way their eyes lit up.

"Sister Martha! Sister Martha! Look-it what we found under Sarah's pillow!" They would run over to the nuns and show them the gifts, jumping on the balls of their feet, unable to stand still. It made Dallon's heart warm while stinging simultaneously, a reminder of the kid he had been assigned to when he was an angel.

But right now, Ryan needed that love and care, and Dallon was beyond happy to give it.

"You should be resting sweetheart, not playing the drums." Dallon was more than relieved Ryan hadn't decided to turn around, his head bobbing like he was trying to stay awake.

"No, I need to go," Ryan made grabby hands at the mystery bottle but Dallon placed it on top of the cupboard, smirking at how easily Ryan gave up.

"I'm sure your band won't miss you if you skip because you're sick, doll. Let me take care of you, alright my love?" Sweat shone on Ryan's forehead, his entire body held up by the counter, energy dangerously dim.

It was nothing more than the common cold, something the demon had seen a thousand times before. All Ryan needed was fluids and rest, but he wanted to go play music? Dallon couldn't let that happen.

"M'kay..." Ryan fell right into Dallon's outstretched arms, eyes half open, staring at Dallon hazily. Whatever they put in that medicine was making him drowsy, pliant and quiet as Dallon brought him to his bedroom, consumed with thoughts about how adorable his love looked.

Ryan remained silent as Dallon stripped him, searching through his dresser for lighter clothes, guiding his legs through the pant holes.

His nose scrunched up as he sneezed, a dopey smile crossing his face as Dallon tucked him into bed, rummaging through his closet for any more pillows.

"What are you smiling about?" Dallon asked while searching through piles and boxes of old stuff, not expecting an answer.

There were some pillows stacked in a box in the depths of Ryan's closet, threads holding the scent of age, but they would work. The demon placed them behind Ryan's neck and sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, admiring how peaceful he looked.

Dallon had grabbed the tissue box from Ryan's coffee table and nestled it between them, letting Ryan hold on to a tendril while he slept, handing him tissues when a cough woke him up.

What else did sick people need...?

His temperature. Dallon needed to check his temperature. Ryan was far too warm to not have a fever.

Dallon left Ryan's side and begun opening bathroom drawers, unsure where a thermometer would be kept.

There- a plastic thermometer, the type that went under people's tongues, surrounded by a pile of unopened toothfloss picks.

Dallon didn't want to wake up his sleeping beauty, but he only needed to check his temperature and then he could go right back to sleep.

"Can you open your mouth for me babydoll?" Dallon asked, stifling a laugh when Ryan palmed at the demon's cheek, grabbing onto his ear, still half asleep. When his rough blisters rubbed against Dallon's pale skin, the demon fought the urge to gently hold his hand and press kisses to every callus, but he instead focused on placing it under Ryan's tongue.

Ryan accepted the thermometer into his mouth, eyes opened just the tiniest sliver, watching Dallon pull it out and read the temperature.

101.4 Fahrenheit.

"You have a fever sweetheart," Dallon clucked, brows drawn together in concern, placing his hand on Ryan's forehead. His skin felt like the outside of a kettle, so Dallon pulled away some of the blankets and pushed Ryan's hair out of his closed eyes.

Dallon didn't want Ryan to be sick. Or hurt. Ever, really. But right now his love was both of those things, sniffling in his sleep, cheek still a faded purple colour.

Even after Ryan objected to that nightmare, Dallon still hated that lead singer, a tiny flame of anger flickering inside of him. It was quickly extinguished when Ryan cuddled up next to him, tossing and turning, looking for the right position.

He was _adorable_. Dallon would do anything Ryan asked him, even if it included not hurting Ronnie.

Ryan began to rub his healthy cheek against Dallon's chest, making the demon chuckle. He looked like a cat rubbing it's whiskers on someone, blue hair ruffled against Dallon's suit jacket.

Dallon ran his fingers through his neon hair, surprised at the brown roots that bled through, hair just as dark as Ryan's eyes.

Staring at his sweetheart, Dallon sat there cradling Ryan's sleeping head for who knows how long, heart pitter-pattering with love. Dallon didn't know what was going to happen once Ryan wasn't high on medicine, but he didn't want to ruin the peacefulness with his worries.

It was already a massive relief when Ryan didn't reel away in fear when he saw the demon, how instead he fell right into Dallon's arms, cuddling right up to him. It made Dallon ecstatic, holding his love so close without any barriers.

Ryan jerked awake with a coughing fit, coughing until he sounded like he was choking, hands gripping Dallon's arm. Quickly, Dallon grabbed the plastic waterbottle he found in Ryan's fridge and held it to his lips, tipping it up.

He drank a few sips before his eyes began to droop again, falling asleep with the bottle still in his mouth.

Oh fuck, he was cute.

"I need you to drink all this for me, darling. Please?" Dallon tapped on his shoulder, still holding the bottle to Ryan's mouth, a fuzzy infatuation making its home in the demon's chest.

Ryan's delicate eyelashes fluttered open as he drained the rest of the bottle, exhaling softly when he finished, a cough breaking the pause of calmness.

"Good boy," Dallon praised, throwing the empty bottle onto the nightstand and missing. He heard it clatter to the floor, about to stand up to throw it out properly when-

Ryan's warm hand was grabbing onto his cheek and pulling him in for the sloppiest kiss of his life, eyes still closed as he made out with unsuspecting demon.

As much as Dallon loved it, he needed his sweetheart to rest before they could get to anything that came after kissing, so he pulled away and stroked Ryan's bedraggled hair in comfort.

"Shh, you need sleep, sweetheart," Dallon responded to the sick man's whine, running his fingers over Ryan's pasty skin, the usual colour in his cheeks faded and lost to his cold.

Ryan fell asleep quickly, clutching onto Dallon's upper arm, head resting on his shoulder.

While it had always been there, that wonderful feeling of love and warmth flourished inside Dallon's heart, thumping against his ribcage at the sight of the sleeping man curled up next to him.

He was the most beautiful sight Dallon had ever seen, even if his hair skewed in the wrong direction and he was sniveling into Dallon's suit jacket.

Ryan was his.

 _'But what about when his mind clears and he finally sees you? What will he think then?'_ This entire time, Dallon's ignorant inner voice had been mocking him, pestering him with senseless worries.

Except they weren't senseless; what would Ryan think?

 _'He only didn't run away because he's high,'_ It jeered, knocking the air out of Dallon's lung, now frightened for what would happen. _'He's going to hate you. This was stupid- you should've never put yourself in this situation.'_

Dallon glanced at Ryan, sleeping soundly next to him, soft snores slipping past his parted lips.

He couldn't just return to the closet- how could he abandon his angel like that?

For a while, Dallon sat there, nerves growing more and more agitated with every doubt that passed through his mind. Before he knew it, the sun was starting to set behind the horizon line, giving every building outside a yellow outline. The radiant colour seemed to set everything ablaze, giving Ryan a golden halo, perfectly fitting for someone as perfect as him, Dallon thought.

"Dal..." Ryan whispered, eyelids flitting open to reveal the deep darkness of his irises, a ring of sun giving his eyes a heavenly glow. "Dallon.."

A small smile spreading on his face, Dallon coiled a tendril around Ryan's spread fingers, enamored with the way Ryan softly said his name. "What's wrong, my love?"

"'m hungry,"

"You wait right here sweetheart, I'll make you something." As much as Dallon hated to leave his love alone, he hated even more for him to have an empty stomach while sick.

Dallon was an okay cook- I mean, you don't go sneaking around for centuries and not learn a recipe or two. But microwaves and ovens had always been tricky appliances for the demon to figure out, emitting that odd, high pitched sound that every electronic gave off.

The demon searched around in Ryan's dusty cupboards for the one thing he'd seen all sick people eat alike: soup. Behind a bag of coffee beans was a can of chicken noodle soup, shiny metal catching the orange sunlight, blinding the sensitive-sighted demon.

He grabbed it and pried the lid open, can lid cutting his thumb, but Dallon was numb to the pain. It was the equivalent of a paper cut, and after all, he had suffered much worse.

Inky blood began to leak from the cut, but Dallon was too preoccupied with pouring the canned soup in a bowl and eyeing the microwave, shuffling towards it cautiously.

He jumped when the door opened so easily, steadying himself with the soup in one hand, bleeding one buried in his pocket.

This was fine- Dallon had battled much more daunting things than a microwave; it was irrational to be scared of a machine.

But even while chanting his mantra in his head, trying to reassure his jittering nerves, Dallon cowered on the other side of the room, covering his ears and biting his tongue until it beeped.

A spoon in hand, he carefully lifted the steaming bowl from the screaming microwave, stuffing the sound deep down in his mind.

Ryan was in the same position Dallon had left him in, laying on the bed, body hidden underneath the sheets. Dallon could only hope he hadn't left him waiting for too long.

His love immediately climbed onto Dallon's love, taking the demon by surprise before pulling him in closer, heart jumping with awe at how much he loved it.

"I made you some soup, mon chéri," Dallon said.

"Thank you..." Dallon could feel Ryan's lips moving against his neck, head tucked under Dallon's chin, arms wrapped around the demon in a hug.

God, Dallon loved him, loved the softness of his normally rich tone, loved how perfectly they fit together.

"Open up for me baby boy," Dallon detached Ryan from his chest, holding the spoon to his lips, watching the way his eyelids quivered as Ryan attempted to stay awake.

Ryan accepted the spoonfuls of soup, eyes dancing between staying open or closed, hands grasping onto Dallon's shoulders. When the bowl was empty Dallon set it down on the nightstand and coaxed Ryan to lay back down with him, breathing peacefully into the crook of his neck.

He was the most adorable, beautiful thing Dallon had ever laid his eyes on. It was a thought the demon found himself thinking all too often, wishing he could spend every day taking care of Ryan.

"Are you full, darling?" Dallon asked softly, not wanting to wake Ryan if he was already asleep.

But to his surprise, Ryan nodded and nuzzled his chest, an electric feeling rippling throughout Dallon's body.

He was holding Ryan. They were cuddling, no door separating them, just the haunting orange glow of the sun and the love swimming through Dallon's brain, making him dizzy.

It was better than any power high. It was better than anything the demon had ever felt, Ryan's head on his chest, sharing warmth and a blanket, everything so serene and calm.

It was everything Dallon had ever wanted.

The room slowly descended in darkness, the only sounds being the buzz of A.C. and Ryan's little snores, blocked up by the crap in his throat.

Dallon didn't know what it felt like to be sick, but he couldn't imagine it felt very good. Ryan looked like a wilted rose, petals faded and withered, sniffling and coughing continuously.

He was knocked out of his thoughts when Ryan grabbed at his arms and the sheets, looking for a tissue.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Dallon handed him a tissue and rubbed circles into his back, heart melting at how small and sickly his love looked.

"M' throat hurts..." Ryan wheezed, drowsy eyes darting around the black room, looking for Dallon.

"Do you want more water?" He held a new waterbottle to Ryan's lips, listening closely as he gulped it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he was done.

"Can you... turn on the light?"

Reaching across the bed, Dallon's fingers slipped on the lamp switch, nervousness crawling into his stomach as the room became illuminated. Dallon had grown accustomed to the comfort of the darkness, and now Ryan would see him, even if he was still high. What would he say?

"Mm... you're so creepy looking Dal," Ryan's voice was light and loopy, the words falling past his lips making Dallon's heart stutter in his throat. "So creepy n' pretty... pretty pretty pretty..."

Pretty. Ryan thought he was pretty. Dallon couldn't stop himself from pressing a kiss to Ryan's lips, savoring the little gasp that his love made.

_Ryan thought he was pretty._

"You're the pretty one, mon chéri," Dallon murmured, planting kisses to everywhere he could reach, overjoyed.

_Pretty. Ryan thought he was pretty._

"You're like... a leech," Ryan's hand trailed across Dallon's face, running his fingers over the demon's nose, mouth and eyes. "My pretty little demon boyfriend..."

"Boyfriend?"

Dallon knew very well what that word meant, but he was awestruck, rendered speechless and stunned by Ryan's sentence. Boyfriend meant a relationship, a relationship meant love-

No... he was getting carried away. It was a slip-up, something Ryan had accidentally said while spaced out.

"Mhmm... what are you, the king of hell or somethin'?" Ryan giggled, unaware of how fast Dallon's heart was beating, thudding loudly in his ears.

Dallon had no choice but to laugh along with him, happiness soaring through him, amused by Ryan's words. "Then you would be my powerful consort, mon belle fleur. And we would rule the underworld together, wouldn't that be wonderful?"

He could already picture the two of them, two all-powerful leaders looking over their unholy paradise, free from humanity's hatred towards Dallon. They could kiss and dance and do whatever they pleased, empty of all the burdens Earth carried, and Dallon could pamper and coddle Ryan for eternity.

It would be marvelous.

"...Dal?" Ryan piped up.

"Yes, mon chéri?"

"Can you... can you sing for me? You have such a pretty voice..."

Dallon's face burned at Ryan's compliment, thrilled that he wanted him to sing.

"Of course I can, my love. You let your mind rest, and I'll see if I can remember any songs."

He hadn't sung in years, mostly out of shame, but sometimes a melody would creep up on him and he'd hum softly to himself, making up the words as he went along. Dallon had always believe that if it wasn't for music, he wouldn't be alive, the only thing saving him from total despair.

Now it was Ryan saving him from despair, and Dallon was delighted to sing a song for his love.

The perfect one popped up in his mind, a love song he had heard an English woman warble on a street corner, dolled up with pearls and pretty makeup. Dallon had always admired the time and dedication some women put into their looks, faces brushed with details only a painter could encapsulate, whether it be heavy eyelashes and pigment or just a blush.

Yet he always admired the women who looked so effortlessly beautiful without makeup too, skin glowing with life. Makeup was the frame to the painting, and with or without it, the artwork was always gorgeous.

The song was about falling in love with someone, how delightful the plain things in life were when you were in love, how the entire world brightened and ordinary things became magical.

It described exactly how Dallon felt with Ryan, like his life was something out of a romance novel, so deeply and utterly blinded by his love.

He had been fascinated by Ryan since the first moment he spotted him, drumming quietly at the back of the stage, just like how Dallon had been living his life. He had been spellbound by his dark eyes, intoxicated by his pleasure, and smitten with how good he made the demon feel about himself.

Ryan had been the first human Dallon ever truly loved, stricken with a bouquet of new feelings, so attached to him while he wasn't.

And here he was, singing him a love song, soothing him to sleep. The lyrics fell past Dallon's lips, soft words echoing through the golden room, shadows cast on the walls by their two bodies.

He was there. He was safe.

Dallon sat in the silence for a while, watching his love sigh in his sleep, hypnotized by the way his chest rose and fell with every soft breath. He wanted to paint this exact moment, sitting next to sleeping Ryan, tracing his face with the tip of his finger. Ryan felt so _real,_ so utterly human, yet so angelic, Dallon could barely contain himself.

It shouldn't be like this. Humans should stay humans and angels should stay angels- Ryan wasn't allowed to be both.

He shouldn't be so completely flawless; it shouldn't even be possible.

But then again, Dallon's existence shouldn't be possible either. Maybe the two of them were meant to exist together, defying the rules of reality, a human and a demon.

Dallon stood up and trudged into the kitchen, overwhelmed with so many thoughts he needed to excuse himself.

Outside the moon was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, looming ominously over the city. His feet padded quietly under him as he went over to the window in the living room and opened it, a gust of cool air blowing inside.

It had always seemed absurd to Dallon how while life could move so slowly inside, the rest of the world continued to zip by, lives ran by clocks, electronics and schedules. Everyone was always in a rush- a rush to start living their lives properly. It was always until the next promotion, vacation day, or even paycheque, a sad reality Dallon had seen in too many households.

He couldn't imagine a life ruled by numbers, but it wasn't like numbers had ever meant anything to him. A biological immortal who could only be killed by his own will, Dallon always had all the time in the world to waste, wandering aimlessly on Earth.

But Ryan was a human- a human who lived by the rules of society, life dictated by other people. And what would happen once Ryan died? Dallon had always pictured them living together forever, but every person died off eventually, a cruel reality Dallon had brought onto certain humans far too early.

Dallon didn't think he'd be able to handle Ryan's death.

A particularly chilly breeze blew something rectangular and flat in through the window, settling perfectly into Dallon's open hands.

It was a letter addressed to him, his name written in curly letters, a gold seal shimmering in the murky lighting of the apartment. He had seen that seal somewhere before, but he couldn't unearth where, buried deep in his brimming memory.

Confused, Dallon carefully opened the envelope with shaky hands, staring at the one sentence written on the otherwise blank paper.

_'Dear Dallon, it sure has been quite a while, has it not?'_

Who would've sent this, and how did they throw a letter so high into the window? And how did they know his name?

As if the paper could read his thoughts, another few sentences were scribbled out, letters appearing right before Dallon's eyes.

_'I am sure you haven't been very happy with your punishment all these years, but I would not blame you. I do suppose I was rather harsh, but do keep in mind, the majority of your incidents with humans were not governed by me. Human lives are quite fickle, therefore it is always difficult for my to lay out everyone's path.'_

Dallon stared at the paper in disbelief, perfectly scrawled letters fading onto the paper line by line, words belonging to the one entity Dallon despised.

**God.**

_'I do assume you have not figured it out by now, unfortunately, judging by your furious complexion. As an apology for every horrible event that transpired to you not under my watch, I reunited you with your original assigned human while you used to work under me. I did find it very surprising you never put the name together, but-'_

The rest of the sentence was lost to the thoughts flooding Dallon's head, gawking at the paper, hair blown around by the wind outside.

Ryan had been the kid?

Ryan had been the one he made contact with, the teenager he made giggle as a cat, the human who had tempted Dallon to disobey the rules?

How could Dallon have not seen this? Had he been so blinded by centuries of new memories, or the fact that Ryan aged and dyed his hair, the youth on his face replaced with exhaustion?

It all made sense- the indescribable attraction, the way everything about them just clicked, the way he was so insufferably in love with him. The reason Dallon had always considered Ryan **his** in his mind, **his** human, **his** love.

Dallon had been Ryan's guardian angel.

_'A point your human made earlier reminded me of a position I would like to offer you. Satan quit hell a few decades ago, and I have been searching for a replacement. I think you and your human would fancy a royal position down there- quite a bit has changed since you were last here. In his absence I have frozen all operations, so take your time deciding and discussing it with your human when you feel you are ready. I'll be awaiting your letter,_

_\- God'_

"Wait- what? Why would I want to live in hell, let alone bring Ryan with me?" Dallon whisper-shouted into the night, unsure if God could hear his question.

_'You would have entire control over everything, excepting the hierarchy and system implemented. As royalty, you and your human would exist in an utopia, free to live forever in bliss and comfort. I know that is something that appeals to you, Dallon._

_Write back to me when you have made your decision. I do know what you will decide, but it is best you control your own destiny. And remember- choose wisely! No more questions, youngling._

_-God'_

Dallon was frozen in shock, staring as the letter was ripped from his hands by a burst of wind, fluttering out the open window into the nightscape.

God had been right- Dallon wanted nothing more than to give Ryan an eternal life of riches and royalty, but was that what Ryan wanted?

And would Ryan even want to leave Earth for the afterlife, especially with Dallon? Was he moving all too fast for his love? Did Ryan even love him back, or was it Dallon's mind playing tricks on him- had he pretended too hard?

It was all too much for Dallon to think about right now, deliriously tired, craving a midnight snack. He would never let himself take Ryan energy without his permission, _especially_ when he was sick and needed it to heal. But unfortunately that meant no food for Dallon, and he wasn't going to leave Ryan alone in his apartment without warning.

Dallon stumbled back into the bedroom, making himself comfortable next to Ryan on the bed, closing his eyes. He would only rest for a few minutes before checking in with his love, seeing if he needed any more water or food. Just a few minutes, just a few minutes-

"Dal..."

When Dallon opened his eyes, it was light outside, sun hanging in the sky. His eyes darted around the room, landing on Ryan, standing in the doorway, staring at him with astonishment.

Oh no... Dallon was laying in the bed, plain as day, Ryan's eyes running over him. What would he say?

"Ryan... how is your throat, mon chéri?"

At the sound of the demon's voice, Ryan came rushing over and seated himself on Dallon's lap, face fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. "Dallon... you're so handsome- you had nothing to hide,"

Dallon was taken back by Ryan's words, by the crystal tears that spilled from his eyes, by the broken breaths he drew in.

"Oh my love, there's no reason to cry, pretty little rose." Dallon was trying to hide his amazement at Ryan's reaction, every organ in his body trembling with love, something so powerful it knocked all the breath out of his lungs. "Here baby, drink some water."

Ryan calmed his coughing with the water, letting the bottle fall to the ground, staring at Dallon with his dark eyes that held nothing but pure love. "Dallon, I- you're so pretty, I can't believe no one's ever told you that before."

Ryan was looking at him and calling him pretty.

Ryan had seen his blank eyes, his shadowy tendrils, his odd height and his boyish voice. _And he called him pretty._

Dallon had never felt so bare, so exposed to a human before. He felt like Ryan could see straight through his soulless existence, watery eyes glittering with so much raw emotion Dallon couldn't process it.

"You're so kind darling," Dallon cupped his love's face, words spilling out of him as he concentrated on blinking back his own tears. "Mon belle petit amour... you have such a beautiful soul, my sweetheart."

Judging souls wasn't something Dallon could do, but right now, the way Ryan was looking at him, pajamas rubbing against Dallon's clothes, love written all over his face?

He had the purest soul Dallon had ever seen- perhaps even more pure than Dallon's when he was an angel.

All he wanted to do was take care of him.

"Do you want some breakfast, babydoll?" Dallon asked, tracing the highs and lows of Ryan face with his thumbs like he was a sculptor, studying his next subject.

"I love you."

Ryan... **loved him.**

His love- the only person Dallon had ever wanted- _loved him._

"Oh baby..." Dallon could barely utter the words, murky tears threatening to drop onto the masterpiece beneath him. "I love you too, mon belle ange. I've loved you since the first moment I laid my eyes on you."

He could barely think straight, mind jammed with Ryan's three little words, three little words that meant so damn much.

 **His** Ryan loved him. Never again would anyone hurt his rose.

Dallon was never going to leave Ryan again, two souls tied together in harmony. It was the fairytale type of love Dallon never thought he'd ever see, a million times better than how any of his books described it.

It was... _indescribable._

"Do you want me to bring you breakfast in bed?"

"Can I watch you make it?" Ryan looked just as wrecked as Dallon felt, pretty little tears shimmering in his eyes.

"Of course sweetheart, I'd love that." Dallon carried him to the kitchen, holding him close until the last possible second, hating to let him go.

Ryan looked absolutely perfect in the bright kitchen, swinging his feet, watching Dallon closely as he went through the cupboards to make Ryan breakfast. While he had never tried them himself, Dallon knew pancakes were a human favourite for breakfast, and they were pretty simple to make.

"...Dal?" His small voice rang out in the tiny kitchen, eyes holding tiredness even though he had slept for the majority of the day.

"Yes baby?"

"...Thank you for this."

"Oh sweetie," Dallon cooed, heart melting at how positively kind Ryan was. "I love taking care of you, mon chéri."

The demon chuckled at the cloud of redness that grew on Ryan's cheeks, blushing and avoiding eyesight.

Ryan watched Dallon make the pancakes silently, gears obviously turning in his brain. All Dallon could think about was how lucky he was that an angel like Ryan loved him.

He loved him.

Nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. Dallon didn't care if trains and cars continued to rush by outside, that people were much to busy to care about his little love story, that the world kept spinning.

Because Dallon's world had stopped. Frozen in that exact moment of euphoria, the moment that Ryan had confessed his love. He was only living out the rest of the moment, and he would be for the rest of his remaining days in the universe.

When Dallon was finished cooking, he scooped up Ryan and carried the plate with his tendrils, bringing them to the table and sitting him down on his lap. "Want me to feed you, darling?"

"Yes please," Ryan was staring at him dreamily, stars twinkling behind the void in his eyes.

Dallon couldn't help but beam as he fed Ryan, his legs wrapped around the demon, arms draped over his pokey shoulders.

His angel, his sweetheart, his precious rose.

_Ryan loved him._

When Ryan was full, Dallon set the plate aside and played with his neon hair, whispering nothing but praise to the sick man. "My pretty angel..."

"Dallon..." Ryan mumbled into the demon's shoulder, voice still airy and light.

"Yes sweetheart?"

"I'm sorry for hurting you yesterday..."

"Oh baby boy, it's okay," Dallon felt his love shouldn't be apologizing- he should be. "I'm sorry for scaring you with that nightmare, mon petit fleur."

Ryan gave a little laugh, his weak little human heart pattering against Dallon's strong one. "It's okay... I don't know how I'm gonna deal with that asshole."

"Do you want me to?" Dallon would gladly harm Ronnie if Ryan asked him to.

Ryan shook his head. "No, no... actually, I have an idea...."

Dallon patiently waited for Ryan to return from leaving the band, proud beyond words that Ryan had mustered up the courage to go alone. He knew the feeling of being scared of an abuser, and it couldn't be easy for him to finally stand up to Ronnie, but Ryan had insisted on going by himself.

The demon grabbed the music box from the closet where he once hid, grinning at the fact that he could show himself freely, and the fact that

Ryan loved him.

He thought back to the letter he had gotten, the otherworldly offer God had given him. Dallon didn't know how things worked down there now, and was certainly enticed by the idea of being royalty while getting revenge on human who have wronged him.

But... would Ryan want that? He was so kindhearted and sympathetic, Dallon didn't know if he could survive in an environment like that, whatever environment be down there. All he wanted was the best for his love, and would never do anything that Ryan wouldn't like, not after how he frightened Ryan with the nightmare.

Dallon didn't know if he was ready to share the contents of the letter with Ryan yet- it could all be a lot to take in, from the fact that Dallon was his guardian angel to God's offer about ruling hell.

Staring at the closed music box, Dallon jumped when the door flew open, a smiley Ryan bursting in.

"How did it go, my love?" Dallon asked, delighted at how bright Ryan's energy was, meaning nothing but good news.

"Oh Dallon, it went so much better than I imagined!" Ryan squeaked, body trembling with joy.

"That's amazing mon chéri! You must feel better." Dallon shared Ryan's joy, even though he still wanted to punish Ronnie for hurting his love.

"I do... today has been one of the best days of my life..." Ryan radiated nothing but pure happiness, a feeling so vivid Dallon could practically see it coming off of him, bouncing on the balls of his toes like those orphan kids when Dallon brought them gifts.

"Here's to making many more of those, my sweetheart. I love you." Dallon said it with his entire soul, three words that were engraved to his brain, branded there for an eternity.

"I love you too Dal."

Ryan loved him.

**\- LA FIN -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!Important announcement before the rest of the notes!!
> 
> So... there is two things I could do and I want you guys to decide:
> 
> 1\. I write a sequel for this fic!! There's a specific part that really hints to it and I have so many ideas for it, but I'd only write it if you guys wanted it <3
> 
> 2\. I don't write the sequel and write and entirely new fic idea I've been holding onto for a while... if I do write the sequel I'd probably write this fic after so you won't be missing anything :)
> 
> Be sure to comment and lemme know!!
> 
> dallon: I will never leave Ryan again
> 
> also dallon: doesn't go with Ryan to talk to ronnie
> 
> Oh my GOD it's done! I'm kinda sad but also a bit relieved because I've been sitting at my desk finishing this chapter for 6 hours and I can't feel my legs jhgfdfghjk gosh its 2AM... I'm so hungry for soup and pancakes now hngggg
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who read!!! Honestly I know I say this a lot but I cherish every one of you guys and every single comment I get!! <3
> 
> Be sure to comment whether you want the sequel or not (if you do I'm really excited for it and I already have it planned out) <3 but if you dont want thats super cool too!!!! lmk :)


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